Walking the Feather's Edge
by FullMetalVixen
Summary: Balthazar Roché is a behavioural researcher for the supernatural, his ever faithful and ethereal companion an angel/demon hybrid by the name of Dean. His husband, ruthless defence lawyer Lucifer Pellegrino, owns Sam, a pureblood alpha demon. Human and sentient being live, laugh, and love together - but not all is blessed in paradise. Slash. Balcifer, Wincest, Destiel. Mpreg.
1. Clipped Wings

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Supernatural, or anything affiliated with the show. All rights go to their respective owners (the lucky sods). Seriously though, what an amazing show. The writers are genius and forever hold my heart in the palms of their hands.

**Warnings:** Story contains heavy slash (the good stuff), profuse swearing (who doesn't have a mouth like a sailor these days?), mentions of male pregnancy (because some people get quite squicky about that), and graphic mating between supernatural entities (I know, right? So awesome).

**Pairings:** Balcifer, Sam/Dean (unrelated Wincest). Further pairings to come later.

And finally, on a personal note; I freakin' heart your socks off, Jensen Ackles!

Enjoy, bitches.

* * *

**_~Walking the Feather's Edge~_**

_'Clipped Wings'_

Balthazar was tired. He was tired and hungry and just a tad bit grouchy. It had been a long work week, and he was thankful that it had finally come to a rest. Thank god it's Friday and all that. Working in the Research and Development department of Ethereal Incorporated, a behavioural facility dedicated to the biological experimentation and analytical study of the supernatural, was surely interesting and rewarding (not to mention something of a life-long ambition turned reality) but it was undeniably exhausting. Recent physiological breakthroughs and medical marvels notwithstanding, the blonde native Englishman was just happy to finally be home.

Pulling up the drive to his idyllic two-storey home in West Boston, he cut the engine to his pristine black Audi R8 and clambered out, a warm smile tilting his lips when he caught sight of the blood red Jaguar XJ parked up outside the garage.

Ah, Luci was home.

Letting himself in, he shirked his heavy overcoat and hung it up on the rack by the front door, pausing momentarily to run his fingers over the expensive Armani suit jacket already there. Ulgh, sometimes Luce's fancy, high end wardrobe made his own typical attire of well-worn blazers and v-neck thermals feel so meagre and _charitable_ by comparison. Still, he would gladly choose comfort over stuffy shirts and oppressive silk nooses any day of the week. Scratching a hand through his tousled blonde tresses, he kicked off his shoes and followed the sensuous aroma befitting a five-star restaurant to the kitchen, his smile broadening to a lazy grin at the sight that greeted him.

Lucifer Pellegrino was a name that could strike fear into the hearts of even the hardest of men; and not just because he shared his Christian name with the devil. To be perfectly frank, with the kind of cutthroat tenacity and ruthless, no-shit attitude the man possessed to become one of the most formidable criminal defence lawyers in all of the East Coast, Balthazar wouldn't be surprised if the devil himself cowered in the shadow of Lucifer's infamous reputation. Watching him now, however, slaving over a hot stove with a grubby apron tied about his neck and waist, shielding a ridiculously extravagant three piece suit from culinary carnage, it was easy for the Brit to forget all about that badass exterior and instead see the man underneath it all; caring democrat, devoted husband, _smokin' hot lover_.

Padding silently up behind the taller male, Balthazar curled his palms around Lucifer's toned hips, fingertips caressing the jut of the bone, and pressed an amorous kiss to the sliver of exposed skin above the collar the shirt, lips brushing against the fine, strawberry-blonde hair at the back of his neck. If Lucifer was surprised at all by the sneak attack, he didn't care to show it.

"Evening, love," Balthazar practically purred into his nape, breath warm and enticing.

Lucifer paused to acknowledge his blonde, a fond grin curving one corner of his mouth. "And to you, beautiful," he crooned, before turning his attention back to the gently simmering marinara sauce. He cocked a brow when those sinuous arms coiled tighter about his waist, the heat of Balthazar's body plastered against his back difficult to ignore. "Zar, sweetheart, I'm kind of busy here…"

"Mm, but I've missed you," Balthazar simpered, hands dipping beneath the apron in search of closer contact, of warmth and flesh.

"Since this morning?" Lucifer deadpanned in response, trying his best not to react to the blonde's devious fingers whilst simultaneously in no way discouraging the bold movements.

"What can I say? This body just _does things_ to me." Tugging Lucifer's shirt free of his slacks, he ghosted his fingers over the man's fastidiously sculpted abdomen, grinning when the taut muscle shivered convulsively under the teasing touch. "And besides, you're playing dirty. You know I can't resist you in that apron."

"Hey," Lucifer protested, looking affronted. "This suit cost more than what most people make in a year. Like hell I'm going to risk getting it covered in questionable stains… _again_."

Balthazar chuckled at the condemning tone. His husband was none too thrilled the last time he'd had to take one of his precious business suits to get dry-cleaned after a rather spontaneous lovemaking session in the kitchen. Witnessing the older male's stammered bullshit excuse and the adorable dusting of pink painting the bridge of his nose when he'd tried to explain the random splotches of ingredients (and other such 'organic' substances) to the bewildered employee at the shop had been well worth the resulting scolding he'd received. To this day, Lucifer was always on guard when Balthazar started getting frisky in the kitchen – leading the blonde to relentlessly push his luck every single time they were in there, of course.

Forbidden pleasures always did taste the most divine.

"Come on, darling," Balthazar hummed, deft fingers working at Lucifer's belt buckle. "Don't be such a prude."

"_Prude_," Lucifer scoffed, his large hands seizing the blonde minx's wrists and halting his ministrations. "After a two year honeymoon, one would think you'd know better than to accuse me of such a heinous atrocity."

Pivoting on the spot, Lucifer yanked Balthazar flush against him, one hand cupping the back of his neck whilst the other splayed across his lower back. Blue eyes glinting mischievously, he captured the blonde's lips in a searing kiss before he could even think to retort, a sharp current of electricity cascading down his spine as it did every time he kissed his beloved.

Balthazar's eyelids fluttered shut, a contented sigh vibrating in his chest as those lush lips devoured his own. He had half a mind to protest when he was suddenly dipped back like some fainthearted damsel in those old timey movies, but the very breath was stolen from his lungs the second that skilful tongue licked into his mouth, short circuiting his higher brain functions and melting his bones into a pliant, malleable mess.

Feeling that he'd more than proved his point when Balthazar hitched a leg over his hip and began fisting at his hair, Lucifer drew them both back upright, a malicious little grin curling his lips when he drew away and Balthazar groaned in complaint. Gazing down into half-lidded pools of icy grey, he smirked.

"Now, if you're quite done trying to molest the chef," he chided humorously, his thumb stroking idly at Balthazar's stubbled jaw, "why don't you go and take a load off; watch some TV, read a book, _relax_. I'll call you when dinner is ready."

Taking the proffered glass of merlot pressed into his palm, the Brit allowed himself to be ushered out into the hall. "Okay, I give – but we are _so_ picking up where we left off afterwards. We'll call it dessert."

"But of course," Lucifer grinned, kissing that adorable pout right off the blonde's lips.

"Excellent," Balthazar winked, taking a sip of his wine. Oh, _yes_. That definitely hit the spot. Glancing around almost expectantly, he quirked an inquisitive brow at his lover. "Where are the boys?"

Lucifer shrugged, a troubled frown marring his handsome features. "I'm not sure. Mopping around here someplace, I suspect."

"Oh, dear," Balthazar muttered, his heart sinking. "Still no results then?"

Lucifer shook his head despondently. "I'm afraid not."

"The poor soul." Balthazar had really been hoping for a more positive outcome this time, but it was beginning to look like more and more of a lost cause. Every attempt and consequence failure broke his heart that little bit more. "I'll go find them, make sure they're holding up okay."

With one last fleeting kiss, the Englishman set about his hunt. It didn't take long to find what he was looking for, which wasn't entirely surprising – their house may have been luxurious, what with their combined paycheques easily hitting six figures, but it wasn't exactly a mansion. Both men preferred the cosy homely feel to the vast space and empty chill larger houses tended to offer. And besides all that, it's not as if locating two fully grown, winged beings of the supernatural variety was all that difficult a task to begin with.

Quietly cracking open the door to their lounge, decorated in colours of cream and chocolate, complete with two large fabric couches, a leather recliner, a currently dormant fireplace, and a small library of fantastical novels and educational tomes alike, Balthazar could easily discern the lanky form of Samuel curled up one of the couches, visage buried from view and naked back facing out toward him. Enormous black, bat-reminiscent wings were curled possessively in front of him, tucked in and around his gangly body, his long, supple tail wrapped neatly around his calf.

The Brit was sorely tempted to nag his husband's supernatural companion about his complete lack of modesty if he honestly thought it would do any good. Like any domesticated creature, Sam and his kin were quite adverse to wearing any kind of clothing – it was restricting and itchy and unnatural, and with body temperatures running substantially higher than that of any human they had no real need to wrap themselves up anyway. Sam could be persuaded to wear pants (exclusively leather, denim got ripped to shreds) when absolutely necessary; when they went out to the park or had guests visiting the house, for example. But when just lounging around the house or out lazing in the backyard, one could expect to see, well, _everything_.

Samuel was a fully-matured, pureblood adult demon. Demons fell into one of four categories; Archdemon, Incubus/Succubus, Yōkai, and Leviathan. Archdemons are the strongest and most feral of any class of demon, sought mainly for protection and good breeding, though often used in illegal underground fighting arenas. Incubus/Succubus, as the name suggests, are sexually deviant demons known for their trickster like qualities, desired for their flawless beauty and fairly docile temperaments. Yōkai are a low class demon with the ability to morph into specific animals. They are very popular amongst families with small children as the Yōkai are essentially harmless and very playful. And lastly, Leviathans. These demons originated from the sea and have distinctive scale-like skin covering most if not all of their bodies. They like to live near large bodies of water and can be very solitary creatures.

Sam came from an excellent line of purebloods, and was a generous mix of both archdemon and succubus, his hulking 6'4" frame, large wings and fiery temper complimented quite beautifully by striking good looks and an intelligent mind. At twenty-two years of age he was considered fully-fledged, and had been in Lucifer's life since he was hatched. The two formed a quick and unshakable bond, and though he wouldn't be as quick to obey a command given by Balthazar as he would his master, he maintained enough presence of mind to know that the blonde was Lucifer's mate and therefore must be treated with due respect.

For all intents and purposes, Samuel appeared to be lost in sleep, but Balthazar knew better. He dedicated an average of forty hours a week, usually more, arduously studying Sam's species – every size, shape and breed. He knew their tells, could read them better than any human he'd ever met, and hence could tell right off the bat that the demon was very much aware of his every move from the very instant he entered his home.

With an air of confidence begot from years of training and handling the supernatural, Balthazar approached the 'dozing' male. The twitching of a leathery wing and the almost imperceptible curling of that sinuous tail let him know he was right on the money.

"Hello, Sam," he began conversationally, knowing full well that he wouldn't get a response. Like any other pet, demons were not well versed in the human tongue. "How are we this evening, hmm?"

Sam curled in tighter on himself, the warning growl reverberating low in his throat steadily increasing in volume for every step Balthazar drew closer. The Brit wasn't an idiot. He knew that a creature like Sam could rightly strip his bones bare in a matter of minutes if he truly desired, and that he wouldn't stand a chance in all of the underworld of stopping him if he did, but again years of conditioning and working with such beings gave Balthazar the confidence to realise that he was in no immediate danger, not really. Samuel was an alpha, and therefore tended to get a little territorial from time to time. The trick was learning to distinguish which growl meant "Back off, I feel threatened" and "I'm feral, baby!"

It also never hurt to leave several spray-bottles of holy water lying around one's home just in case those tentative lines should ever become blurred.

Gently sushing the clearly riled beast, Balthazar quietly closed the distance between them. He noticed that Sam's back tensed, his wings flexing though refusing to unfurl from in front of him – and Balthazar could only speculate as to why. Sam's head snapped up when Balthazar gently carded his fingers through his luscious caramel locks, pointed teeth bore and eyes black and hollow. Balthazar didn't flinch in the slightest, his body language calm and movements lethargic so as not to startle an unwarranted reaction from the demon.

It took a few minutes, but luckily Balthazar had developed unwavering patience from his experience in the R&D department and kept up his soothing petting until those haunting ebony eyes eventually bleed away to reveal handsome hazel orbs and the aggressive growls simmered down to a low rumble. Balthazar smiled.

"There now, that's a good lad," he praised, scratching at Sam's scalp just the way he liked. Sam butted his head into the touch, his tail lazily flicking from side to side. "Well, now that you're in a more agreeable mood, I don't suppose you've seen my darling De anywhere, have you?"

Sam huffed, head burrowing back underneath the cocoon of his colossal wings once more. Balthazar rolled his eyes and tugged impatiently at that glorious mane.

"_Samuel_," he reprimanded, his tone stern.

The demon growled in displeasure but conceded all the same, knowing that disobedience could result in punishment from his master. With tender care, he slowly uncurled his right wing, the dark appendage flaring up into a neat arch and stretch, its length great enough to brush against the ceiling, before folding back against the tanned skin of his back. When Balthazar peered over his side, he was not surprised in the least to see his own pride and joy nestled up tight to Sam's chest.

"Hello, Dean," Balthazar hummed softly, a doting smile curling the corner of his mouth.

Dean was a hybrid, a rare mix of both demon and angel, and had been by Balthazar's side since he was a fledgling. Much like demons, there were four different classes of angel; Archangel, Seraphim, Cherubim, and Guardian. Archangels were always large and predominantly male, and whilst they weren't exactly aggressive they could be very domineering and hostile when provoked. Seraphim are the quickest and most agile of all the angels, easily recognisable by their six wings and somewhat nervous natures. Cherubim are not only the most beautiful class of angel, but also the most affectionate. They are very popular amongst single humans and often sell for the highest price in auctions. Guardian angels are very solitary creatures that can become overly agitated when exposed to large groups of humans or ethereal beings. That being said, they are unflappably loyal to their masters and are exceptionally easy to train.

At twenty-one years of age, Dean was a rarity, a real treasure. His father was a pedigree archangel and his mother a pureblood kitsune yōkai. Usually interspecies breeding was not only frowned upon and dangerous, but also damn near impossible. Unless especially compatible with one another, angels and demons were simply too dissimilar to breed. Copulation between the two species was certainly commonplace, oftentimes encouraged during heat cycles to stave off any unwanted pregnancies, but successful conception was rare. Hence the anomaly that was Dean. With glorious, feathered wings as soft to the touch as down and a fiercely protective nature courtesy of his sire, and a beguiling, almost feline-quality beauty derived from his mother's animalistic charm, he was truly the best of both worlds.

When Dean didn't respond to his cheery cooing, other than to cower further into the protective alcove of Sam's embrace, Balthazar chewed on his lip and tried not to take it too personally. When feeling vulnerable, it was perfectly normal for a beta to take refuge in the comfort and protection of their chosen alpha.

Stretching forward, and much to Sam's chagrin, he pet a hand through his angel's dirty blonde hair. "Dean, my boy, what is it? What's wrong?"

Dean made a soft noise, not unlike a pitiful whine, and when he finally lifted his face away from Sam's chest, Balthazar could swear that he heard his heart break into thousands of tiny pieces. Big, soulful green eyes stared up at him, such beautiful orbs usually brimming with life and mischief and curiosity were now blotched and reddened from shed tears, swimming still with those that had yet to fall. They looked so haunted and lost, so defeated, that Balthazar could feel his own eyes prickling in response.

"Oh, Dean," he sighed mournfully, his thumb gently wiping the damp from beneath his eye. "I'm so sorry, boy."

Dean was a beta, and, in spite of his hybrid status, was prone to heat cycles just like any other submissive – one every three months for a period of two weeks or until impregnated. But the mated couple were having trouble conceiving.

When Balthazar and Lucifer first started dating some three years ago, they had no idea how their companions were going to react to each other. Sam was a proud and dominating alpha, one unafraid to get physical when threatened or afraid, and Dean, whilst generally quite well behaved and laidback, could be terribly stubborn and kick up an awful fuss when provoked, the demon blood in him revelling in challenges. As such, the two supernatural beings were gradually introduced to one another over the span of a few weeks, Balthazar familiar with all the tried and tested methods as part of his research at Ethereal Inc.

First they began with scent. When Lucifer would visit Balthazar's home, or indeed the other way around, he would be sure to interact thoroughly with Dean (for as long as he could stand not having his hands pawing all over Balthazar instead), ensuring his hands, arms, face and clothes were saturated in the hybrids unique aroma. He would then return home to Sam, who would pin him against the wall or draw him into the cocoon of his wings and proceed to scent him from head to toe. Lucifer would never admit aloud just how much it tickled.

Next they tried sight. The lovers would arrange a time and place, preferably wide open venues like their local park where hasty retreats were possible if necessary, where they would 'bump into' the other whilst out walking with their divine companions. Lucifer noticed Sam perking up eagerly the very instant the demon laid eyes on the hybrid, long before they were close enough for scent to factor in.

Sam was very interested in the angel hybrid, from those big beautiful wings, the feathers an alluring smoky grey with streaks of silver and ebony, to the lean muscled frame, lightly tanned skin and sparse dusting of freckles spattered over high cheekbones. Dean was similarly smitten from first sight, the pureblood demon boasting an impressive wingspan, an intimidating height and strong body all wrapped up in delicious olive skin.

Lucifer and Balthazar had planned on simply passing each other the first time, just to gauge their respective beings initial reaction toward the other. Neither could have expected it to go quite as well as it had. Demon and angel hybrid had tentatively circled one another, nostrils flaring as they scented the air. Sam was the first to garner a touch, his large hand reaching out and fisting a handful of downy soft feathers. Dean had taken immediate offence and batted the brute away, wings puffing out in irritation.

Sam hadn't been deterred for long, though.

When Dean had settled he tried again, this time carefully stroking his long fingers through the ruffled primary coverts. Dean had been wary at first, shying away from the touch and edging closer to Balthazar for every advance the demon took. But Sam was nothing if not persistent. Eventually the two creatures moseyed off to explore their surroundings, as well as one another, leaving Lucifer and his blonde to do some catching up of their own.

Within a few months Sam had mated Dean, marking the angel hybrid as his own for life. Being a beta, Dean automatically became Sam's bitch, his submissive. Alpha beings were always dominant, betas versatile (dominant over omegas, submissive under alphas, and fighting for their position with other betas) and omegas were always submissive.

Given Dean's unique lineage, Balthazar was concerned that Sam's mating of him wouldn't take, but thankfully that wasn't the case. Again Dean defied normal parameters, breaking the mould with his ability to be both mated like a demon and bonded like an angel. Balthazar obviously couldn't be certain of the latter, with no way to test it, but was confident that his theory was correct. If Dean was predominantly angel, his sire having contributed the majority of his genetic makeup, and he could successfully mate with a demon then surely his more dominant gene would be able to bond with another angel if ever he chose, right?

When Lucifer proposed just over two years ago, and Balthazar went from Roché to Pellegrino, they all moved out to West Boston, bought their dream home out in the fresh air of the countryside and settled down as one big, happy family.

Everything had been running smoothly, with the two humans living in a rapturous state of perpetual wedded bliss, whilst demon and hybrid continued to loaf around by day and fornicate like a couple of horny adolescents at, well… any time they damn well pleased as it so happens.

It was into their first year of marriage that the British researcher first began to take note of the subtle shift between Dean and Sam. The demon would periodically wrap himself around his mate, not contentedly like he would on a lazy afternoon, nor sated and boneless as he was want to do after a vigorous mating session, but rather he would coil himself tight around Dean's smaller form, leathery wings shielding him from view and rumbling possessively any time Balthazar or Lucifer walked past them.

Next he noticed the obsessive grooming, the provocative rubbing and ceaseless rutting, like Sam was determined to ingrain his musky scent into the very marrow of Dean's bones. Even more curious was Dean's willingness to allow such dominating behaviour, his beta nature and volatile demon blood not making him the most accommodating of all submissives. It almost seemed as if Dean was encouraging Sam to dominate him, the hybrid sauntering around with an enticing swish to his hips, casually fluffing up his feathers when he knew Sam was watching, sprawling himself across any available surface and baring the length of his throat for the demon to nuzzle and mark as he saw fit. And the noises the two of them made; Sam's low, throaty growls and Dean's soft, purring mewls. Between the two of them, their incessant cacophony was enough to keep Balthazar awake at nights and prompted Lucifer to lock Sam outside before they retired to bed – until the neighbours complained about his howling, that is.

This would continue on for about a week or so and then suddenly cease, before they started the whole routine all over again a few weeks later. Balthazar was stumped, and Lucifer cranky, until one day it hit the Brit like a ton of bricks and he could have kicked himself for his stupidity.

One Saturday afternoon when the Englishman was stuck at home alone, Lucifer having been called out to work for an important conference with a perspective client, Balthazar quietly followed their supernatural companions about on their daily agenda, figuring if his husband was stuck doing work on his day off then perhaps he should do a little himself. He quickly found their routine to be tediously mundane, though with their cerebral status not that much higher than your average domestic pet, it was hardly surprising.

Demon and hybrid spent the vast majority of their morning dozing in a pool of golden sunlight streaming through the bay window in the living room, limbs tangled and wings splayed out haphazardly. After Balthazar fed them breakfast, he let them out the back to stretch their limbs and do their business (oh if only they had the brain capacity to grasp the concept of a toilet). After a quick morning flight – they never strayed too far or for too long – the duo indulged in a lengthy grooming session, Balthazar watching their every move from the kitchen window, lazily jotting down notes on habits and behaviour whilst nursing a vanilla latte.

Dean groomed Sam first, typical of a beta and a submissive. Licking his palms like a feline would, he cleaned the dirt and grime from Sam's leathery wings, then he would tackle his chestnut mane, lovingly carding his fingers through the silky locks and loosing any tangles. Finally he would bathe his alpha's face, neck and ears using his tongue. When he was satisfied with his mate's appearance, Sam would return the favour, getting rid of any caked earth or unsightly clumps from Dean's feathers and using his dexterous, sandpapery tongue to cleanse his skin.

Balthazar noted that Sam was undeniably more thorough with Dean's bath, stripping the hybrid of his pants and laving him from the soles of his feet to the crown of his head, paying extra special attention to his throat, the mating mark on his shoulder and, of course, his genitals. It was important for an alpha to regularly smother their chosen mate in their odour, their unique signature as it were, not only to ward off any challenging dominants but also to prove their worth as a suitable provider. Dean positively preened under the attention from his alpha, writhing and rolling beneath the demon with each loving swipe of his tongue.

From inside the house Balthazar sighed and drained the last dregs of his now tepid beverage. He could see where this was going; namely his two companions seeing more action today than he undoubtedly would.

Tucking his pen behind his ear and flipping his notepad closed, he made to leave Sam and Dean to their coupling in peace, not particularly wishing to stick around and watch. But just as he turned, with every intention of making a fresh pot of coffee and perhaps sending Lucifer a quick sext message in the hopes of luring him home quicker, he caught sight of something that peaked the researcher in him.

He observed with a morbid kind of fascination as, instead of simply mounting Dean as he normally would when sexually aroused, Sam meticulously nosed along Dean's stomach and abdomen, nostrils flared and a look of deep concentration on his face, completely disregarding the hybrid's enticing purring and gyrating hips. After a thorough inspection he then manhandled Dean over onto his hands and knees, pressing the angel's chest down into the grass with a large hand between his shoulder blades whilst he pressed his nose to his mate's leaking buttocks.

It was right then that it all finally made sense; the rubbing and rutting and possessive behaviour – Sam was _scenting_ Dean, trying to determine if he was fertile and ready to breed.

Later that same night when Lucifer came home – and after a rigorous fuckfest in retaliation for Balthazar's filthy texts – as they lay tangled together in bed, the blonde proposed that perhaps it was time for Dean to finally come off of the medically approved heat suppressants he'd put him on as soon as the hybrid had taken his first ovulation cycle. Lucifer wasn't overly optimistic about the prospect of miniature demon/angel hybrids running around, chewing up his furniture and leaving 'presents' on the carpets, but when Balthazar admitted that perhaps he was simply getting broody now that he was thirty and suggested that "Maybe we should look at adoption agencies instead, love?" he promptly changed his tune and was suddenly and rather enthusiastically onboard with the whole thing.

The very next day Balthazar stopped giving Dean his medication, and by the beginning of the week the hybrid was experiencing his first ever uninterrupted heat.

Samuel fast became a force to be reckoned with.

For the first few days the demon was wild and overly aggressive, the smell of his bitch in heat bringing out his baser instincts and causing him to be excessively possessive over Dean. Once or twice he even snapped at Lucifer. The married couple barely saw hide nor hair of their companions, demon and angel holed away in their nesting room upstairs with only Sam ever emerging to fetch them water and sustenance as was his duty as alpha.

Lucifer didn't care for his demon's new attitude one iota, having raised Sam to be tame and subservient always to his master, but he couldn't find it in himself to complain, not when his sexy blonde seemed to be having a positive reaction to their daily, nightly and ever so rightly copulating. He didn't know whether it was the porn quality yowling and mewling filling their corridors at every hour of the day, or the prospect of his husband's beloved Dean fulfilling his maternal instincts and birthing a litter of little hatchlings, but it certainly seemed like the blonde was going through some kind of pseudo heat himself, pawing all over Lucifer as soon as he set foot through their front door.

Who in their right minds could complain about that?

But herein lay the current problem. The initial heat didn't take, and Dean remained without his litter. Not awfully disconcerting. It was the hybrid's first, and they weren't always successful when one considered the amount of stress and strain it could put on any young submissive's body.

Approximately three months later they were at it again, Dean offering up his flexible body and slick hole, and Sam indulging him at every turn – the poor hybrid didn't even have to be awake for the demon to clamber on top of him and force his beta to take his knot. Two weeks of anticipation and expectation of positive results crumbled to metaphoric dust as Dean's second heat petered out with absolutely no sign that the hybrid had been successfully pupped. Dean had been distraught.

It had now been roughly ten months since Balthazar had halted the suppressants, and Dean was drawing close to the end of his third fertility cycle. As Balthazar gazed down upon those dejected jade eyes he felt a wretched pang in his heart. He'd hoped to avoid it, but if Dean didn't fall pregnant this time he would have to take him to one of their local supernatural specialised clinics for an examination. Of course, the problem might actually turn out to be Samuel, but it was decidedly unlikely. The demon came from a notoriously red-blooded and prolific line, and with the sheer amount of times that they fornicated during a single cycle, it never really mattered if an alpha's little swimmers had low motility, you could almost guarantee that one of those little guys was going to make it through.

Hence the insurmountable sorrow he felt for his heartbroken angel.

Trying for an encouraging smile meant to sympathise but which felt more like a grimace than anything else, he scratched lovingly behind Dean's ear. "Don't lose heart, pet. There's still time." Straightening up, he stroked Sam's hair, his steely gaze beseeching the demon for some sort of divine miracle they both knew he couldn't deliver. "You'll take care of him, won't you, Sammy?" Sam didn't answer, obviously, but he did curl Dead closer to his chest and rumble a short, mollifying growl. Balthazar couldn't help but grin fondly. "There's a good boy. Rest easy, lads."

Knowing there was nothing more he could do, Balthazar got out of their hair, closing the door behind him with a soft _click_. Sam waited until he heard the human's footsteps disappear back downstairs, until he could hear the distant murmurings of his master and his blonde mate conversing in the kitchen, before turning his attention back to his own mate. Dean was nestled up close to his front, his smaller frame shuddering against him as he sobbed quietly, the angel's tears damp against his skin.

Sam crooned softly, wrapping his beloved up in the safety of his wings. "Don't cry, Angel," he spoke in a base and long extinct dialect of Latin. Demons and angels were a lot more intelligent than humans tended to give them credit for. "What can I do? Anything, my heart. You want the stars? The moon? Name it and you shall have it."

Dean whined, the sound so broken and forlorn that Sam whimpered right along with him. "I don't want material tokens, Sam," the hybrid replied, pretty jade eyes wet and despondent as they gazed up into troubled hazel. "You know what I want – the one thing I can't give you, apparently."

"Don't say that," Sam quickly hushed, his large hands cupping his angel's face. "We don't know anything for sure. You could be pupped right now and we might not even know." Nuzzling his nose into the crook of Dean's neck, he took a deep lungful of his intoxicating scent, purring low in his throat and lazily flicking his tail. "Mmm. You still smell plenty ripe to me."

"Sam…"

Dean wasn't exactly in the mood and fought against it, he truly did, but the magnetic pull of his alpha was too compelling to resist. The potent aroma of arousal sat thick and heavy in the air, Dean lost to the heady musk of Sam's pheromones as the demon rolled him onto his back and draped his long body over his own, drowning him in sensation. Eyes fluttering closed, his legs fell open as if on broken hinges, his hole slicking in anticipation of being fucked open and filled as he tipped his head back, baring his throat in a tempting arch for Sam's visual pleasure.

Sam growled his approval at Dean's eager submission, tail coiling up his mate's thigh and wings flaring out wide in a show of dominance as he took the proffered flesh with relish, sharp canine teeth teasing over Dean's racing pulse. Dean mewled so prettily, hips grinding up in a desperate bid for some sort of gratification, that Sam couldn't help but reward his beautiful beta with a sharp bite to the mating mark forever punctured into the supple flesh at the base of his throat.

Dean cried out, delirious on pleasure, his thighs locking tight about Sam's waist, hips canting up in search of the demon's impressive endowment. Sam's head was muzzy on his bitch's sweet scent, body feverish with _needwantmate__**now**_, his cock engorged and dripping and testicles swollen and heavy. Hands grasping frantically at Dean's undulating hips, he blindly sought out his mate's heat, expertly fucking into that dripping and thoroughly abused hole within the first few attempts. Dean snapped his head back and all but yowled, Sam choking on a rumbling groan of satisfaction. His bitch was so hot inside, so wet and tight and perfect, taking every inch of his monster length and girth with the utmost pleasure.

Dean moaned and mewed his appreciation with every single snap of Sam's hips, purring his gratitude for his alpha's strength and virility.

"Shit, Sammy. _Fuck_. Right there; right fucking _there_," he mewled, body quivering and muscles seizing when Sam nailed his prostate with lethal accuracy. "Yes, alpha, _yessss_. Harder – _harder_, Sammy. You know I can take it; ain't gonna break."

Sam surged forward, practically folding his mouthy little angel in half as his hips pistoned back and forth. "_Damn_. You like that, bitch?" he growled, ecstasy lacing his veins and pointed teeth bore against Dean's throat. "So perfect, Dean. You take my cock so good, like you were made for me. Swallow me whole every damn time. So fucking wet and tight and _perfect_, Angel."

"Touch me, alpha," Dean panted, fingers clutching uselessly at the armrest behind his head. "Sweet Father, _touch me_."

"Such a prissy little bitch when you're in heat, beloved," Sam admonished, though not unkindly. He knew what his mate wanted, what he _craved_, and in his heat-frazzled state of mind he didn't have the heart nor the patience to teasingly refuse him. With one hand splayed possessively on the small of Dean's back, keeping his hips tilted at the optimum angle, he reached out with his free hand and fisted them into the satiny soft feathers near the base of his wings.

Dean convulsed with elated bliss, eyes rolling into the back of his head as he moaned loud and filthy. "Fuck, yes! _Yes_! That's it, Sammy!"

Sam's pupils were blown wide, cock swelling with anticipation and wings arching up high with pride at his mate's lusty siren call. "Such a beautiful bitch, Dean," he simpered, laving his tongue over the angel's sweaty skin, tasting salt and desire and _Dean_. Fucking _delicious_. "Couldn't have hoped for a better mate, Angel. Your body, your _soul_, it calls out to me, _needs me_. No other could satisfy you the way I do." Tugging roughly at Dean's oil-slick feathers just to hear him cry out, he fucked into the writhing hybrid even harder, his rhythm short but deep, punishing. "Just look at you, Dean; so pretty and debauched, fucked open and blissed out on my cock, my prowess. Even your wings are leaking for me. Such a good, submissive little bitch."

Dean could feel himself careening towards oblivion, to divine rapture, his blood singing with delirium. Throwing his arms tight about Sam's neck, he twisted his fingers into those caramel locks and yanked, _hard_, knowing the demon got all hot and bothered for a little roughhousing during mating. Predictably, Sam snarled and slammed Dean down into the cushions, teeth snapping at his exposed throat and thrusts brutal in their vigour – the hybrid was going to have trouble moving tomorrow.

Feeling Sam's knot beginning to swell, Dean nipped provocatively at the demon's ear, taking special care not to venture too close to Sam's own throat in case the action was misconstrued as an act of defiance or rebellion, and locked his ankles behind the elder male's back.

"Hghn – come on, Sammy," he purred lasciviously, meeting Sam thrust for thrust. "Fill me up, alpha; sire me with your pups." Sam growled, both hands clamping down on Dean's frantically rolling hips with enough pressure to shatter bones, never mind bruise skin. Dean didn't care; he could take anything Sam could dish out. "Oh, fuck. Oh, yes. Split me open, alpha. Pump me full and plug me up. Wanna carry your hatchlings, Sammy, want my belly full and swollen and warm with life – life you put there, that we created." Clenching his eyes shut, Dean didn't realise he was crying until a hot tear rolled down his cheek. "Want it so bad, Sam… Please, _please_, give it to me…"

The image of Dean swollen and glowing, of his beaming face and unadulterated joy, was enough to send Sam cascading over the edge, his balls drawing up and his wings beating to a soundless rhythm as he came hard and fast and _ohmygod__**sogood**_ inside of his mate's open and pliant body. Dean gave a loud, keening cry as the familiar sensation of Sam painting his insides white washed over him, the demon's knot engorging to ensure that not a single fluid ounce went to waste, the impossible stretch and welcomed burn dragging Dean down into the blissful depths of his own intense orgasm.

Peppering his angel with doting kisses and loving licks, Sam settled down on his side, carefully manoeuvring Dean to lay down beside him. The knot wouldn't deflate for a good ten to twenty minutes, so they might as well get comfortable and bask in the afterglow of yet another fevered mating.

Only time would tell if the third time really was the charm.

* * *

**A/N:** Ever read an awesome story, but wish that you were behind the wheel so to speak? That you could direct the characters' actions and dialogue and mould the plot to your own desires? I get that a lot. Hence this little beauty. Gonna shape and twist and love her, see where she takes us. I have no specific plans for this story (ficlette?) If anyone has any suggestions, a scene they'd like to see or a character they want to stir up some drama, then by all means share and I'll see what I can do to accommodate.

There is not enough Balcifer lovin' going on out there, hence they are my focal human couple. Freakin' adore them together. Other pairings/couples you would like to suggest; I'm all ears.

Hope y'all enjoy. Peace out.

**FMV**


	2. Icarus

**Disclaimer: **Eric Kripke owns Supernatural; all the characters, rights, and awsomeness. I sometimes (_constantly_) wish I was him - I would gladly trade my femininity for excessive body hair and a penis if it meant knowing Jensen Ackles. Dear lord, Eric has probably _touched_ Jensen. _Multiple times_. If I were any more jealous I'd be psychotic.

**Warnings:** See chapter one.

**Pairings:** Balcifer, Sam/Dean.

And, on a personal note; "Jefferson Starships... heh? Because: they're horrible, and hard to kill."

Enjoy, jerks.

* * *

_**~Walking the Feather's Edge~**_

_'Icarus'_

Knee bouncing, foot tapping, and fingers thoroughly wrung, Balthazar checked his watch for what felt like the nth time in so many minutes. Oh, wonderful. A whole thirty seconds had passed since he last looked, a subsequent twenty minutes after he was lead into this poky little waiting area with its too harsh lighting and overpowering aroma of disinfectant.

Huffing out an irksome breath, the blonde scrubbed both hands roughly down his face, scratching at his lightly stubbled jaw as he kept a vigil eye on the door. It had been just over two weeks since Dean finished his third heat cycle, and whilst the days slowly trickled by, yielding no better results than the last, they had all began to lose their remaining vestiges of hope. And then, from the ashes of despair came a small glimmer of a miracle; Dean developed a bout of morning sickness.

With biological components and genetic structure remarkably similar to that of a normal human being, it had been observed that ethereal beings shared symptoms to certain illnesses parallel to that of humans. For example, in pregnancy it was common for demons and angels to suffer from irritability, morning sickness, erratic fluctuations of mood, and spells of exhaustion.

Naturally, the very instant Balthazar noticed that Dean had become ill and had taken to napping more often during the afternoons, he immediately ushered the groggy hybrid into the car and rushed him to the nearest clinic. Sam had put up quite the protest, flapping his large wings and crooning for his mate, the demon visibly upset that he didn't know what was going on. After a brief struggle, Lucifer managed to subdue the indignant alpha, communicating in stern tones that Dean wasn't under any kind of threat and would be returned home before the night was out.

Samuel was not best pleased, pointed teeth bared in displeasure and windowpanes rattling with a dark influx of demonic power, but he couldn't rightly argue with his master and eventually backed down, allowing his dazed mate to be escorted out the door with Balthazar.

Well, that had been over thirty minutes ago now, and Balthazar was just about ready to yank his hair out by the roots if he didn't get a goddamn update and fucking _yesterday_. After all the worry and the stress and the tears, they might finally be on the right tracks. Dean would fulfil his role as devoted beta and get his merry brood. Sam would dote over his pregnant mate, would tend to Dean's every wish and whim all the while strutting around like a bragging peacock with its tail feathers ruffled up. He himself would not only acquire some very valuable field research on hybrid offspring and their upbringing, but he'd also gain a litter of little hatchlings to spoil absolutely rotten. And Lucifer? Well, he would attain the peace of mind that the newest additions to their budding family would hinder his blonde from getting struck down with 'baby-fever' again any time soon.

The waiting was seriously setting Balthazar on edge, so much so that when the waiting room door finally creaked open on squeaky hinges he was instantly on his feet – never mind that there were three other visitors currently waiting to be seen, he'd damn well sat there for just about as long as he could take. If this wasn't for him, then the clinic was about to experience a tantrum the likes of which they'd never seen before.

A svelte woman with flowing auburn hair, kind emerald eyes and a quirky little smile appeared from behind the door, her gaze sweeping the small room and its occupants before landing on Balthazar and glittering with a familial kind of warmth.

"Mr. Pellegrino," she beckoned with an eccentric wave. "Would you like to come with me, please?"

Balthazar certainly didn't need to be told twice. Hurriedly shuffling out of the room, he closed the door behind them and was suddenly upon the petite specialist.

"Jesus, Charlie," he chided, icy grey eyes wide with obvious concern and his hand gripping her bicep. "I didn't take you for a masochist. Do you have any idea how long I've been sitting in there chewing my nails down to the bone?"

The redhead looked somewhat startled. "Um, like, fifteen minutes maybe?"

"Twenty minutes," Balthazar corrected, all pretence of civility gone. "Twenty minutes _too long_, sweetheart. Now, please tell me you have some good news for me."

In spite of appearances, Balthazar had actually known the pretty redhead for a number of years. Charlene 'Charlie' Bradbury and he had attended college and even graduated together, the two forming a fast and meaningful friendship from the moment Charlie had awkwardly admitted that she was in love with _Harry Potter_ and Balthazar had charmed her with his limited edition _Star Wars_ box sets.

The pair had gone on to work closely side-by-side in Ethereal Inc. for a number of years, Charlie the geeky head lab technician in the R&D department before growing bored and setting her sights on supernatural veterinary work instead.

Balthazar was gutted that she was leaving him behind after so many joyous years of witty banter and completely platonic flirting, but he wasn't about to begrudge one of his closest friends their true calling in life, and so the duo parted ways with the promise to keep in touch. And they had. Charlie ended up opening her own practice right next door in Cambridge, the clinic a neat five minute drive from their own home in Boston.

The turn of events couldn't have worked out better really; Balthazar got to meet up regularly with his longest standing friend, the pair arranging weekly lunch dates at quaint little bistros and cafés just so that they could sit out on the verandas – Charlie with her syrupy iced coffees and Balthazar with his crafty cigarette – and bitch about anything that caught their fancy. It also meant that help was always close at hand when Dean got himself into a scrap or needed a booster shot. There was literally no one else in the entire cosmos Balthazar trusted more with the health of his beloved Dean than he did Charlie.

However, such intimate friendship and camaraderie unfortunately came with its share of downsides, too. Just as Balthazar could tell when Charlie was truly happy by the faint crinkle at the corners of her eyes, and when she was exceptionally excited by the cute little scrunch of her nose, he could also tell when she was nervous, anxious and genuinely upset – all three tells of which she was desperately trying to conceal right now.

Balthazar felt his gut coil with icy dread, his head promptly filling with every worst case scenario. "Charlie…? What is it? What happened?" he beseeched, both hands clutching at her slim shoulders. "Oh, god – is it Dean? Is he alright? Please tell me he's okay."

"Calm down, Balthy, Dean is perfectly fine," Charlie reassured in a motherly tone, her emerald eyes soft and understanding. "He was somewhat malnourished and running a mild temperature, but I've given him some medication that should bring the fever down and help soothe his nausea."

"Malnourished; fever?" Balthazar parroted, brows furrowed in consternation. And then her words really sank in and it gradually dawned on him, his heart panging miserably. "Ah. Right. So that means that he's not…?"

Charlie shook her head sombrely. "I'm sorry, hun. I think that all the stress and anxiety of trying to get pregnant, coupled with his loss of appetite, has simply taken its toll on him." Reaching up to pat the blonde's hand, she gave him a sympathetic, thin-lipped smile. "He's exhausted, Zar."

"As long as he's healthy, I suppose that's the most important thing." He gave a wan smile, the light dying behind his eyes as he squeezed her shoulder. "Can I go see him? I'm sure he'll want to go home, curl up with Sam and just forget about this whole thing for a while."

Balthazar barely made it a single step before Charlie gently seized his wrist, halting him in his tracks. He frowned at her from over his shoulder, wondering what the holdup was, and that's when he got a good look at the pained expression marring her usually quite pretty features. And suddenly he knew; as hard as it was to swallow the regrettable news of Dean's false alarm, what was coming next was going to be much, _much_ worse.

"There's more," Charlie confirmed his fears, her face grave.

"Yes, darling, that much I figured out on my own. That fancy doctorate framed above my mantel isn't just for kicks, you know." Pinching the bridge of his nose, he took a deep, cleansing breath. He was being a colossal ass and worse, he knew it, but he honestly couldn't help it. He'd never been one to digest bad news with any modicum of dignity. "Sorry, Chaz, I didn't mean to snap. You know what I'm like; the slightest bit of drama and I turn into the cattiest bastard you'll ever meet."

"It's okay, babe," the redhead assured the agitated Brit. "After so long you kind of get used to the magnitude of different reactions clients tend to throw at you. And besides," she murmured with a mischievous grin, "it's not like I'm not privy to your infamous bitchfits. Need I remind you of the night of Alastair's grad party?"

Balthazar cringed. "Oh, Christ…"

Charlie chuckled behind her hand. "When that skanky bimbo Ruby got all up in your crush's business I seriously thought you were going to flay the skin from her bones!"

"Forget Inias," Balthazar scoffed with a dismissive wave. "I was more upset that the little harpy somehow managed to commandeer my Johnnie Walker! I was but a lowly student, and that bottle cost me a bundle – that thirty dollars could have fed me for an entire _week_ – and the brainless wench went and let half the football team wrap their lips around it. Um, hello? Can you say venereal disease?"

"Always the drama queen," Charlie grinned with a fond eye roll.

Balthazar felt his own lips twitch into a lopsided smile. He wasn't quite sure how she managed to do it, but the spritely little redhead always knew just what to say to put him at ease when he was teetering precariously close to the edge of oblivion. He could not possibly love the woman more right now.

"Well, as fun as it is reminiscing about the good old days when I was the charismatic bachelor with the charming English accent and the ass that wouldn't quit, we can't exactly avoid the hulking big elephant pouting in the corner…"

Charlie inclined her head. "Come, walk with me and we'll talk."

With no qualms whatsoever, Balthazar took hold of Charlie's hand and loosely intertwined their fingers. Without missing a beat Charlie returned the gesture, squeezing gently in reassurance as she guided them down the brightly lit, linoleum hallway.

"Before you go giving yourself a stress induced hernia, let me begin by reiterating that Dean is perfectly fine. As soon as his fever abates and he gets some nutrients back in his system I can write him off with a clean bill of health."

"Hm. And this is where the dreaded 'but' comes in…"

"I can use 'however' if you prefer?" Charlie suggested with a minxy grin. "It's like a fancy 'but'." Balthazar didn't look the least bit amused at her lame attempt at humour, and the redhead awkwardly cleared her throat. "Yikes, tough crowd…"

"Charlie…" Balthazar warned, his stormy grey eyes pleading with her to _please_ just get on with it.

"Right, okay." With a heavy sigh she slipped seamlessly from casual companion to competent practitioner in the blink of an eye. "I didn't want to say anything when you first came in, didn't want to needlessly panic you on what could have been nothing more than a silly, theoretical hunch. Only…" She bit down softly on her plump bottom lip, eyes downcast. "Well… it turned out it wasn't so silly after all."

Balthazar licked at his suddenly too dry lips, a dreadful lump rising in his throat and threatening to choke him. "Oh, out with it, woman! I'm a big boy now, in case you hadn't noticed. I'm sure I can handle it."

"Dean is… I mean, uh, given his circumstances, he's um…" Realising she was stammering and conducting herself in a less than professional manner, Charlie sucked in a sharp breath and straightened up, looking her friend square in the eye. "Dean is barren, Balthazar. He cannot now, nor will he ever be able to conceive conventionally. I'm so sorry."

The blonde flinched back, as though physically slapped. "Barren? Are you– how can you be sure?"

"Like I said, when you told me of the complications with Dean's ability to carry – a definite abnormality for any healthy creature during a reproductive cycle – and when the results of the pregnancy test came back negative, little alarm bells started going off in the back of my head." Gesturing for her friend to sit on the cushioned seats stationed outside one of the many examination rooms, Charlie wrapped her white lab coat about her waist and sank down beside him. "I figured while I had him here I might as well dig a little deeper, if not for Dean's sake then for your own peace of mind."

Balthazar frowned. "But Dean–"

"Was fine," Charlie interrupted with a knowing smile. "I know how nervous he can get, especially when you're not around, so I put him under sedation. He didn't feel a thing." Tucking a stray strand of auburn hair behind her ear, she got right down to the nitty gritty. "Working off my earlier hunch, I more or less knew exactly what I was looking for, and so I ran a few blood tests and preformed a brief invasive procedure. I'm still waiting on the results to come back from the lab for official confirmation, but I can say with confidence that I've already determined the problem."

"Which is…?" Balthazar prompted, unsure as to whether or not he could even stomach the answer.

"Dean is experiencing something akin to anovulation in human women." At Balthazar's distinctly ignorant look, Charlie pressed on. "Anovulation is essentially a menstrual cycle in which no oocyte is released and therefore ovulation doesn't take place." If possible, the Brit looked even _more_ confused. Charlie rolled her eyes. "Jesus, did you not pay attention in biology, like, _at all_?"

Balthazar simply couldn't resist a provocative grin. "Oh I paid plenty of attention to biology, darling – just not in class."

Yeah… Charlie wasn't touching that one with a ten foot barge pole.

"In layman terms," she stressed with a pointed stare, "while Dean is experiencing regular and healthy heat cycles, he's not actually producing any eggs for Sam to fertilise. Basically, it's the female equivalent to firing blanks."

"My god," Balthazar breathed, dragging both hands through his hair. "It's so much worse than I ever anticipated." Twisting to face the redhead, he looked pleadingly at her. "Is there anything we can do? Medication? Surgery, perhaps? You said he couldn't conceive conventionally, so there has to be _something_."

"Oh, of course! There are always options," Charlie confirmed encouragingly. "We don't have to consider anything as drastic as surgery, but there are a few prescription drugs available. One such option is a synthetic drug that stimulates the production of FSH and was actually formulated from clomiphene citrate, a treatment used for infertile human females. It is currently in the final stages of clinical trial, but it has wielded some excellent results with up to sixty-seven percent of the recipients able to successfully ovulate, and a further thirty-two percent able to conceive."

"Thirty-two percent?" Balthazar echoed with a frown. "That's not awfully high. And still in clinical trial, really Chaz? I don't know if I like the sound of that…"

Charlie nodded, sympathetic to her friend's anxiety. "Okay, if you don't like that then there are different avenues we can explore. What about IVF? Or even surrogacy? Dean may not be able to produce ripe eggs, but his womb is still fully functional. We could take the egg from another submissive, fertilise it with Sam's sperm, and then implant it within Dean. He could carry and birth the hatchling as if it were his own."

"Heavens no," Balthazar immediately rejected, shaking his head. "Don't get me wrong, it sounds nice; Dean being able to experience pregnancy even if he didn't technically 'conceive', but there's absolutely no telling how Sam would react. I mean, it's a foreign scent growing inside of his mate. What if he felt insecure or threatened? Or, god forgive, became violent? I've witnessed firsthand furious alphas literally try to tear the unborn foetus from the bellies of unfaithful submissives in a jealous rage during studies." His lip curled in repugnance at the gruesome memories. "There's no way I'm going to risk the lives of any defenceless little pups, or Dean for that matter, on anything less than a guarantee of his safety."

"I understand your concern, hun, I really do," Charlie coaxed gently, her hand coming to rest atop the blonde's knee. "But we've had some very promising results with some of our other surrogates…"

"And the rest?" Balthazar challenged, arching a probing brow. "The ones that weren't so promising?" Charlie averted her gaze and pursed her lips, wordlessly answering his question. The Englishman gave a curt nod. "Yes, I rather figured as much. What else have you got?"

"Adoption?" she tried with a small shrug. "There are always plenty of young fledglings and newborns looking for loving homes down at the shelters. It's not usually popular with those that already own fully-matured companions, especially a mated alpha, but it might be worth considering. Of course, there is no guarantee that either Sam _or_ Dean will take to a new addition that isn't blood related, and if the chick or pup grows to become an alpha then you always run the danger of Sam construing that as a personal attack on his territory and mate."

"Damn…" Balthazar heaved a tired sigh and rubbed at his pounding forehead. "When did the future start looking so bleak?"

"I'm sorry, sweetie," Charlie murmured softly, her hand rubbing soothing circles on the blonde's back as she deliberated her next words carefully. "You know, you might want to think about tubal ligation…"

Balthazar's head shot up at that, eyes narrowing. "You mean tying Dean's tubes? You want me to _sterilise_ him?"

"It's just a suggestion," Charlie was quick to defend herself, holding her hands up in a placating gesture. "I'm only thinking of what's best for Dean here. In fact, if you wanted to be even more humane then I would recommend a full hysterectomy. It would stop his heats altogether and end this fruitless cycle."

"No. Absolutely not," the blonde snapped, rising to his feet because he was suddenly too agitated to sit still anymore. "I refuse to give up on him, to write him off like a god forsaken lost cause."

"He's making himself _physically ill_, Balthazar," Charlie warned, her tone taking on a serious edge as she attempted to break through the Brit's stubborn resolve. "It's not healthy for him to continue on with this hollow obsession… It isn't healthy for _either_ of you."

"This is _not_ an obsession," Balthazar heatedly opposed, his jaw clenching. "Like you said; I'm only thinking of what is best for Dean. With a mother that died not long after he was born, and an absent sire who abandoned him because he wasn't 'pure', he has suffered enough due to his mixed genetics. He grew up with _nothing_, Chaz. He had no littermates, no parents, and none of the other fledglings in the sanctuary where he was born would associate with him. He was all alone in the world until my parents brought him home on that fateful afternoon. We bonded and he changed my life – he's the reason I do what I do, why I fight so hard. I made a promise, a _solemn vow_, that I would look after him always, that he would never again have to face the road ahead with no one standing by his side." Pausing to regain his collapsing composure, he give Charlie a helpless look. "He's sacrificed quite enough already, so don't stand there and tell me that I have to be the one to take away something so meaningful to him, because I won't do it – _I can't_."

The raw exposure of Balthazar's emotions, his gaping vulnerability, plucked wretchedly at Charlie's heartstrings.

"I know Dean hasn't had it easy, hun – you seem to be forgetting that I've been his personal physician and avid fangirl for a number of years now," Charlie reminded him, her features open and warm like that of a mother doting upon her child. "You have his best interests at heart, and I admire that, but you gotta be careful that you don't get _his_ needs crossed with _your_ desires, for both your sakes." Slowly rising to her feet, she tucked her hands into the pockets of her lab coat and granted her long-term friend a compassionate smile. "Look, I think I've given you more than enough to think about for now. Why don't you take Dean home and mull it over for a few days? He should already be coming around from the tranquiliser."

Nodding numbly, he followed Charlie when prompted, his movements lethargic and sullen whilst his temples throbbed with the weight of a decision that shouldn't be his to make in the first place. What would Dean want, given the choice? Was he truly suffering this way? Was there any hope at all?

With a heavy heart and a mounting sense of impending misery, he quashed such pointless musings as inconsequential, resigned in the fact that there were simply some questions for which he would never know the answer.

* * *

Balthazar had barely set foot in through the front door, with Dean – still muzzy from the sedative – traipsing listlessly behind him, when he was damn near bowled over by 190 pounds of frantic demon. Sam had Dean wrapped up in his gargantuan wings and halfway up the stairs before the Brit could even blink.

"Oh no, excuse _me_, gentlemen," he drawled sarcastically to the demon's retreating back, his only answer the echoing slam of a door from upstairs. Scowling, the blonde shrugged out of his coat and decided to leave the pair to it.

He needed a stiff drink anyways.

Meanwhile upstairs Sam was growling, a dark, intimidating rumble low in his chest, as he delicately laid his groggy mate out in their 'nest'.

Lucifer and Balthazar had kindly bestowed the supernatural duo with a rather lush queen sized bed within their very own sleeping quarters when they had first moved in together as a family, both men knowing how defensive their companions could get over their space and possessions – and Lucifer for one certainly didn't want a repeat of his bachelor days when Samuel had hijacked his parlour and adamantly refused his master entry of the room when he was occupying it. Hence the boys got their own bedroom, complete with their own bed and accumulated personal effects.

It had been a good idea – _in theory_.

The plush cream carpet lasted all of a month (whose bright idea was cream, anyway? With two fully-grown ethereal beings that treated mud puddles like spa days it was hard to tell what the original colour might have been anymore), and the bed even less (the grand mahogany frame had been scratched, bitten and gouged from a mixture of frenzied fucking and utter boredom, the headboard a total _write off _– to this day Lucifer refuses to accept explanation as to why).

Within weeks the lavish queen mattress had been ripped into literal shreds, mounds of latex foam and strips of knitted ticking piled into the furthermost corner from the door, the optimum vantage point to avoid direct sunlight in the early mornings and also for Sam to keep a constant, dutiful eye on the door should anyone decide to intrude uninvited.

It wasn't long after the total deconstruction of their bed that Balthazar detected a suspicious decrease in the number of decorative scatter cushions from the lounge and den, and Lucifer noticed the distinct lack of heavy comforter, used primarily in the colder winter months, from the ornate oak chest at the foot of their own marital bed. It didn't exactly require Columbo to solve their 'great mystery', and upon inspection of the mated companion's room, they found their missing pillows and blanket (and fluffy towels and quilted throws and snug bathrobes); all of the smuggled contraband used to meticulously build themselves a cosy little nest to rest, sleep and _play_ in.

Situating Dean comfortably within the thick of the mound, closest to the wall and tucked away out of sight, Sam curled himself tight about the hybrid's body, his leathery wings cocooning his mate in close to the soothing heat of his body.

Taking a deep lungful of his angel's scent, Sam scrunched up his nose in distaste. "Damn, Dean, you _reek_," the demon complained, setting about instantly rectifying the grievous infringement on his property. "You stink of disinfectant and those god awful rubber gloves humans wear."

Dean, not in a position to do much of anything really, simply laid back and allowed Sam to bathe him, the faint scratch and familiar warmth of the demon's deft tongue a welcomed distraction as it lapped lovingly over his face and neck, washing away the stench of cold, clinical instruments and probing hands.

Mind still bleary from the lingering effects of whatever it had been the red-haired woman in white had injected him with (the crafty witch diverting his attention with a routine eyesight test that he'd done a thousand times already before cunningly jabbing him in the neck) and thoughts clouded with snippets of words he didn't quite understand – "surgery", "adoption", "sterilise" – he allowed himself to be lulled into a hazy state of semi-consciousness by his alpha's tender licks and pacifying growls, head lolling back and eyelids drooping to half mast.

For several minutes the room was awash with silence, Dean's relaxed breaths and the gentle rasp of Sam's tongue as he devotedly bathed his beloved the only sounds to periodically break the peace.

Until–

"I think I'm broken, Sam…"

The words were spoken on a gentle exhale, so soft and detached that if Sam were any lesser being he might have missed them entirely. Only he wasn't, and he didn't.

Abruptly ceasing his ministrations, mouth poised over the hybrid's right hip, sharp hazel eyes flicked up. "What are you talking about, Angel? There's not a damn thing wrong with you. You're my mate, and therefore perfect in every way." Lip twitching, Sam flared his wings. "Who told you otherwise? I demand to know, Dean – they've filled your head full of lies!"

"I think master thought I was pupped," Dean explained, absentmindedly shushing his riled mate with a soothing little purr.

"Humans really are simpletons," Sam scoffed exasperatedly, his mate's fingers tangling through his long chestnut locks considerably calming him. "If you were carrying my pups I'd know long before even _you_."

"Well of course _we_ know that, moron, but master doesn't," Dean chided with muted bite. "I honestly think that's why he took me to the pretty woman in white earlier, so that she could, I dunno, have a look or test me or whatever. Only…"

"What? What is it?"

"I was in there too long, Sammy," Dean admitted, his deep jade eyes visibly troubled. "She knocked me out. Why bother if it was just a routine check? Then when I came to, they were talking about me outside. I was still so muddled from the shot I didn't catch most of it, but I heard my name, and words like 'sterilise', and 'IVF', and something about tubes? Knotting tubes? Or was it tying…?" Shaking his head in confusion, he turned to his alpha for answers. "Have you heard of anything like that before?"

Sam frowned, his tail swishing and curling through the air in thought. "Hn. Well, sterilise is like the same as clean, I think. You know like when master washes his hands before he touches food?" Dean gave a nod of confirmation, willing to take his word for it even though he was in no way clearer as to what that had to do with him. Was Balthazar bothered with his hygiene? "As for the others, I haven't a clue – I wasn't even aware that you had 'tubes'. I haven't ever seen them if you do, which is odd when you consider there isn't a single inch of this beautiful body I haven't yet explored…"

Sam slithered his way up Dean's body, growling amorously as he dipped his head to nuzzle and nibble at his mate's throat. Dean shifted beneath Sam's weight, his blood simmering in spite of his best efforts not to spur him on.

"Jesus, Sam," he groaned weakly, torn between pushing the perpetually horny demon away and pulling him ever closer. "My heat only _just_ ended like two weeks ago. You're like a freakin' dog with a bone."

Not one to be so easily discouraged, Sam continued to insist, rubbing himself provocatively against the hybrid. "Mmm. C'mon, Angel. All this talk about heat and pregnancy and pups has really got me going…"

"You're fucking incorrigible, Sammy," Dean chided sternly…

…as he hurriedly shimmied out of his faded jeans.

* * *

Elsewhere meanwhile, Lucifer was holed up in his home office, quietly crunching numbers and calculating their next month's budget, all whilst enjoying a finger or two of scotch – generally just keeping himself to himself. Tie loosened and shirt sleeves rolled up, he was carefully perusing their outgoings for the last financial quarter, reams of paper strewed haphazardly about his desk and illuminated by the soft yellow glow pouring from the small table lamp perched on the corner, when Balthazar suddenly sauntered in.

Thin black framed reading glasses perched on the end of his nose, Lucifer arched a brow when his blonde lover, barely even acknowledging his existence, headed straight for the drinks cabinet sat against the far wall. Lucifer watched silently as the Englishman grabbed a fine crystal tumbler, grabbed the half full decanter of their eighteen year old Glenfiddich, then promptly turned heel and left again. There was no big fanfare – he didn't tear into the room, stomp around, mutter curses under his breath or even slam the door; but after three years together, Lucifer knew how to read the signs. There was a maelstrom of emotion brewing mere millimetres below the surface of that otherwise blasé façade.

Downing the remaining dregs of his drink, he abandoned his work and followed the younger male out. He found the Brit exactly where he thought he would; quietly reflecting (read; _brooding_) in the living room.

Sinking deep into the worn leather armchair and swallowing generous measures of their expensive whiskey, the native Englishman didn't so much as flinch when his husband suddenly took up residence on the armrest to his right.

"So…" Lucifer began in a lazy drawl, elegantly crossing his legs and draping his left arm over the back of the headrest. "Are you going to tell me what it is that you're upset about, or am I going to have to guess?"

"Who says I'm upset?" Balthazar returned with a cool shrug, knocking back his drink before reaching to refill his glass from the open decanter sitting on the end table to his left.

"Well, let's see," Lucifer hummed in a knowing tone, scratching idly at a coarse, whiskered cheek. "No informal greeting kiss when you came in; you're moping around in the dark; and you're polishing off our 'seasonal' whiskey like you're expecting the apocalypse in the morning…"

"Okay, first off; I am most certainly not 'moping', and it's plenty bright in here," Balthazar quipped with a scowl, gesturing vaguely to their dimly lit surroundings. "And secondly, I'm only drinking this pathetic excuse for sufficient whiskey," he brandished his glass, "because we're out of anything older." He polished off his second helping with a grimace, wiping his mouth with the back of his wrist. "We need to add a case of Macallan 1824 to the shopping list."

"Our budget would disagree with you there," Lucifer muttered with a disapproving frown as the Brit poured himself a liberal third glass. Reaching across, he confiscated both bottle and tumbler from the blonde, dutifully ignoring his growls of protest. "I think you've had quite enough already, wouldn't you agree, love?" Rising to his feet, he set both items on the coffee table before turning to face his incensed lover. "Come. I feel we have much to discuss, and I would rather be relaxing somewhere comfortable than perched on a stiff armrest watching you drink yourself into oblivion."

Stormy grey eyes narrowed in defiance, Balthazar clenched his fingers and grit his teeth. He really did loath being told what to do or how to act – was he not a grown man, for god's sake? – but he couldn't begrudge his husband his concerns. How many times had the role been reversed, with Lucifer drowning his work related stress and carefully guarded worries at the bottom of a bottle whilst Balthazar rolled his eyes and condemned him silently in the background?

Rubbing at his chin, he conceded defeat with a weary sigh. "Bloody hell – okay. You win, darling."

"Don't I always?" Lucifer replied with a dashing grin, offering his blonde a hand and assisting him to his feet.

"Like I could stay mad at you," Balthazar scoffed, the barest hint of a smile teasing at his lips. "You're far too adorable in those glasses."

"All part of my natural charisma, sweetheart," Lucifer smirked, pressing an affectionate kiss to the corner of the blonde's mouth. "Now, let us retire, and you can tell me all about it."

Resting his forehead against the elder's shoulder, Balthazar simply inclined his head in acquiescence, mind at ease wrapped up in his husband's strong arms and concealing a warming smile in the crisp folds of his shirt.

* * *

Thirty minutes and a wardrobe change later found Lucifer and Balthazar comfortably situated in the master bedroom, the blonde perched on the edge of their king mattress dressed in a pair of navy plaid sleep pants and a loose-fitting white t-shirt, recapping his trip to the clinic with a decidedly bitter tone. Lucifer, donned in nothing but a pair of ratty old grey sweats and the skin of his back, was knelt behind him on the bed, listening intently to what his hostile lover had to say whilst diligently massaging out the tension riddled knots in the blonde's shoulders.

"Well, that certainly explains the sudden penchant for hard liquor…" Lucifer mused mostly to himself, choosing to ignore the reproachful icy glower Balthazar shot at him from the corner of his eye. "So, what are our options? They're always making advances in medicine these days, right? Surely there's something we can do for the boy."

"Charlie did mention a few proposals…"

Lucifer didn't like the way Balthazar's back suddenly tensed up all over again, his midnight blue eyes pinching in suspicion. "And they would be…?" he prodded when it became apparent that his husband wasn't going to elaborate any further.

Balthazar squared his jaw. "Nothing worth consideration."

Okay, now Lucifer was getting irritated.

"Balthazar," he warned, his palms resting hard and heavy upon his shoulders. "Stop being so evasive; it's childish and quite frankly unbecoming of a supposedly grown adult." Gripping the Brit's chin between gentle fingers, he tilted the younger's face to the side so that he could look him in the eye. "I don't ever ask for much, Zar, only your love and respect. I'm your husband; you should be able to trust me with anything." Smiling softly, he stroked the pad of his thumb across the blonde's jaw. "Otherwise what's the point, hm?"

Balthazar averted his eyes, unable to hold Lucifer's penetrating gaze for long. "She suggested IVF, surrogacy with a donor egg implanted within Dean, adoption, and a newly developed drug fashioned from human fertility treatment."

"Huh. Well that doesn't sound so bad," Lucifer said with an optimistic smile. "Why not give the medication a try?"

"It's still undergoing clinical trials," Balthazar argued with a frown. "I don't particularly want Dean experimented on like some lab rat; getting his hopes up just to have them dashed when it doesn't work."

"If, love," Lucifer countered gently. "_If_ it doesn't work." Relaxing back on his knees, he picked up where he left off, dextrous fingers expertly smoothing out several kinks in the blonde's neck. "Come on, what else? I know you wouldn't be this worked up over a measly clinical trial or signing adoption papers… There's obviously more, so spill."

"It's nothing."

"Balthazar–"

"I said it's nothing!" Balthazar suddenly snapped, violently shrugging out of Lucifer's soothing touch and lurching to his feet. Icy grey eyes seething with frustration, he turned to face his greatly perplexed husband still kneeling upon their bed. "Bloody hell, Luce, can't you ever learn to just fucking drop it? What does it matter if I don't tell you every single insignificant detail? If I say that something is unimportant then you should just take my goddamn word for it and back the fuck off!"

Lucifer was up and off of the bed in a shot, Balthazar starting when he was suddenly backed up against the wall by their ensuite bathroom with a muscular forearm braced firmly across his sternum. His husband's face was the very epitome of calm and serenity, but Balthazar wasn't fooled. He was versed well enough in his lover's habits and mannerisms to know that he was merely riding the eye of the storm; one wrong move and he'd undoubtedly unleash the man's infamous temper.

"I know you're troubled, sweetheart, understandably so," Lucifer began, his voice a low, dark murmur that set Balthazar's nerves on edge. "But why don't we calm down for a second, take a deep breath and try to compose ourselves, hm? You know how excessive cursing in conversation upsets me."

"Maybe I want to curse; you ever think of that, huh?" Balthazar bit back, hands curling tight around the arm pinning him down. "Maybe I deserve to fucking curse and mope and throw a goddamn bloody tantrum! Maybe I don't need you constantly breathing down my neck and hassling me when it's _so fucking obvious_ that I don't want to talk about it!"

"I just want to understand," Lucifer growled, his patience wearing terribly thin. "If only you would open up to me, then perhaps I could help, perhaps I could–"

"She wants me to sterilise him!" Balthazar barked suddenly, shoving Lucifer back and effectively cutting him off midsentence. "She reckons the best solution is to reach into Dean and tear his insides out. It's the 'humane' solution, apparently. _Christ_. Are you satisfied now?"

Lucifer contemplated the situation for a long moment, his astute powers of judgement and shrewd mind quickly weighing up the pros and cons of such a significant decision, before coming to a swift conclusion.

Eyeing the quietly fuming Englishman, he tentatively broached the clearly sensitive subject. "Would it really be so bad?" he tried, wincing when the blonde recoiled like he'd reached across and bodily struck him.

"Oh Christ, not you too," Balthazar groaned in despair. "What ever happened to trusting you? To helping me?"

"I'm merely suggesting that it's not the worst idea I've ever heard," Lucifer stated, folding his arms over his naked chest with a small shrug. "If it's what's best for Dean, then I would think that you would agree. Surely you don't want the poor boy to suffer unnecessarily, do you?"

"I think I know what is best for Dean, thank you very much," Balthazar growled defensively in response, eyes narrowing and hands curling into fists.

"Do you?" Lucifer queried, cocking his brow. "Are you sure you're not living out your own fantasies precariously through Dean? Pushing him into dangerous situations to make up for your own shortcomings?"

Balthazar gave a jaded laugh of resentment. "You know what? Fuck this. If you're just going to take Charlie's side, then we're done here." Pushing away from the wall, he shouldered past his husband. "I'll be sleeping downstairs."

Striking with the kind of speed a rattler would envy, Lucifer seized a hold of his blonde's bicep, whirling the Brit back round to face him. "You're not going anywhere, love – not until _I_ say we're finished."

"With all due respect, _love_; go fuck yourself," Balthazar snarled, fervently trying to pry his arm free from Lucifer's ironclad grip with minimal success. "Damn you, Lucifer – unhand me this instant!"

"No," Lucifer growled in response, quick reflexes catching the incoming fist launched at his face and sparing him a nasty black eye come the morning. "You are going to stay right here, with me, until we sort this whole fiasco out and reach an amicable, _united_ decision. Do I make myself clear?"

And just like that, the two men found themselves in a heady, electrically charged kind of stalemate. Balthazar was positively _seething_, white hot rage coursing thick and fast throughout his veins and his every synapse pulsing with vivacious energy. Lucifer wasn't faring much better himself to be perfectly honest, his entire body humming with adrenaline and a liquid heat pooling low in his gut as was liable to happen when tempers flared and their spousal 'disagreements' turned heated. The elder male always did have a certain weakness for rough play, sadomasochism and mild violence something of a not-so-closeted kink.

Balthazar could have rolled his eyes at his husband's predictability – you didn't spend nearly three years of your life loving someone without picking up a trick or two along the way – and so when Lucifer suddenly surged forward, one large hand fisting in the neck of his t-shirt and the other clutching at his hip, the Englishman was ready for it, expecting the ardent mouth crashing against his own even if the intensity of the act did catch him somewhat off guard.

Knowing resistance was futile (not that he particularly wanted to resist at this stage), Balthazar wrapped his arms around Lucifer's neck, his slender fingers tangling in the man's strawberry-blonde hair and crushing their mouths more firmly together.

Spinning them around, Lucifer blindly navigated Balthazar backwards, pushing him up against the vacated wall with entirely different designs in mind this time. Balthazar huffed out a breath when he was roughly shoved back into the painted drywall, his mind reeling as Lucifer's tongue lapped into his mouth, damn near choking him with fervent passion as warm hands hiked up his t-shirt and a muscular thigh slipped between his legs.

Breaking the kiss just long enough to tear the blonde's shirt off over his head, Lucifer dove straight back in, his tongue avidly mapping every ridge and crevice of Balthazar's mouth whilst his hands reverently traced every solid dip and sloping curve of his sculpted torso.

Balthazar moaned breathlessly when Lucifer's fingers ghosted down the muscled V of his hips, his breath stuttering when they suddenly dug in hard, nails biting into the delicate flesh on both sides of the bone. Snapping his head back with a harsh thud, he hitched a long leg over the elder man's left hip and pulled him in close, rocking his pelvis enthusiastically against his lover's.

Groaning heatedly at the contact, and following Balthazar's lead, Lucifer hiked the blonde's other leg up around his waist, using the wall for leverage and supporting his lover with both hands cupping the pert, rounded globes of his ass. Smirking when the Brit gasped, he attacked the supple skin of Balthazar's neck, lips sucking and teeth nipping as he palmed that glorious backside and rolled his hips up in a slow grind.

"Good lord, Luci," Balthazar moaned, his thighs clenching tight about Lucifer's middle. He sucked in a sharp breath when the elder growled and sank his teeth into the flesh of his collarbone in retaliation for the insufferable nickname, arousal spiking hotly throughout his bloodstream. Vocabulary rapidly failing him, he managed a panted, "I'm still pissed at you, just so that you know…"

"Mmm, excellent," Lucifer hummed, moulding the length of his body against the rising warmth of his lover's. "_Use_ that anger, turn it against me – make me scream, if you can."

"You are such a sadist," Balthazar commented with a saucy grin, his nails scratching lightly over Lucifer's scalp.

"Lucky for me then…" Lucifer began, carrying his blonde away from the wall and depositing him unceremoniously upon their bed, "…that you, my beautiful wife, are a total masochist. We compliment each other perfectly."

"Wife?" Balthazar queried with an indignant quirk of the brow, grinning smugly to himself when he raised his arms in a seductive little stretch, back bowed and muscles tensed, and Lucifer's midnight gaze shamelessly devoured his every move.

"Of course," Lucifer answered as if it should be obvious, a wolfish smirk curling one side of his mouth as he languorously crawled over the top of that athletic body. Pressing a heated kiss to Balthazar's lips, he lowered his body, slotting himself between the younger's thighs. "You're the sweet blonde with the slender frame and petite build; hence, wife."

"Oh, I see," Balthazar replied when Lucifer drew back, his arms winding about broad shoulders and neck arching as the redhead started lavishing his throat with open-mouthed kisses. "And I suppose that would make you the tall, strapping, handsome one?"

Lucifer chuckled against the blonde's creamy skin, inciting a plethora of goosebumps as his fingertips danced down over his heaving ribcage and quivering flanks. "Normally I'm not one to blow my own trumpet – I'll leave that to you, love," he waggled his brows facetiously, to which Balthazar rolled his eyes, "but in this case I would have to agree wholeheartedly. For tonight, _I_ am the alpha male." Nipping teasingly at his ear, he growled on a sultry breath, "I'm going to bend you over like my Samuel does your Dean, and sex you up over and over, tear into you like I _own_ you…" Grinding the swollen evidence of his desire hard against the answering firmness of his lover, he smirked at the breathy moan Balthazar let loose, the blonde clutching desperately at his shoulder blades. "And then, when it's all over, when you're blissed out and gasping for breath, tangled in the sheets and dripping with sweat, too sated to move or even speak – tell me then who you think the wife is around here."

A crippling bolt of heat and electricity surged down Balthazar's spine and shot straight to his straining erection at the husky promise. Licking his lips, stormy eyes glittered with mischief and challenge. "I'm hearing a lot of talk, darling, but not seeing much action to back it up," he purred salaciously, his fingers tugging impatiently at the strawberry-blonde curls at the base of Lucifer's head.

"Hm. Can't be having that, now, can we?" Lucifer replied with a lascivious smirk, fingers hooking into the waistband of Balthazar's sleep pants and tugging suggestively.

Balthazar raised his hips with a cheeky wiggle, aiding his husband as he stripped him down to his black Calvin Kleins. "Heaven forbid. Just think of your reputation."

Bunching up the discarded pants, Lucifer tossed them uncaringly over his shoulder, a wicked gleam glinting in those dark blue eyes. "Exactly."

Balthazar hissed with pleasure when Lucifer suddenly swooped down, his tongue laving wet and warm over his right nipple, teasing it into a rosy, hardened peak before latching on with his teeth, the blonde's back arching helplessly into the elder's mouth as he tugged and nipped with just the right amount of pressure to make him squirm.

Rubbing his hands down the Brit's sides, Lucifer slipped them behind his back and pressed up, keeping Balthazar's back bowed in that seductive arch as he mouthed his way down sun kissed flesh and fluttering abdominals. He couldn't help but smirk against the younger's stomach when needy fingers threaded through his hair and pushed, not so subtly trying to 'guide' him further south.

"Eager much, sweetheart?" he murmured with a cocky grin, deliberately stalling as he kissed and licked around the blonde's navel.

Balthazar rolled his hips impatiently, stormy eyes glaring as they gazed down upon his grinning lover. "Didn't your mother ever teach you not to start something you couldn't finish?"

"Now that," Lucifer hummed, snapping the elasticised band of his underwear playfully, "sounds like a direct challenge of my talents."

Balthazar gave a flirtatious little grin, eyebrows rising provocatively. "Funny you should interpret it like that, almost as if you feel that you have something to prove…"

Lucifer's eyes narrowed to slits at that. You want to take a cheap shot at his life, his family, his career – hell, his lifestyle choices even? Go right ahead; take a number and step forth if you think you're hard enough. Never let it be said that Lucifer Pellegrino ever backed down in the face of degradation. But at the end of the day he was still a man; a red-blooded male with a fragile pride and two heads constantly at odds when calling the shots. As far as he was concerned, dragging his sexual prowess into scrutiny was hitting below the belt.

Perhaps it was high time he educated his ballsy little blonde in the ways of etiquette and respect.

"Such a wicked tongue you possess, love," Lucifer commented with a grin that simply screamed of depravity. Pressing one last amorous kiss to the inside of Balthazar's thigh, so very, _achingly_ close to the pulsating erection straining against the front of his boxers, he suddenly pushed himself up and away, his gut coiling with heat at the indignant, needy whimper the blonde released instantaneously. "What say we put it to better use…?"

Balthazar watched with hungry eyes as Lucifer crudely palmed himself through his sweats, making his hinted 'suggestion' abundantly clear. Moaning in approval at the beautifully debauched sight, Balthazar pounced, knocking Lucifer down onto his back with a muted huff. Kissing the redhead deep and filthy, he reached down between their bodies, keen fingers dipping beneath the waist of Lucifer's bottoms, a low, wanton moan rumbling between their mouths when his hand curled uninhibited around the hot, turgid shaft of his cock.

"Commando?" he purred, giving the dripping length a firm pump. "You always know just how to get my motor running, darling. Please, _please_ tell me you've been like this all day…"

"You like that, babe?" Lucifer breathed, his hands cupping Balthazar's shapely backside whilst his hips pushed up into every stroke of the blonde's palm. "You like thinking about my cock while I'm at work?"

"Mmm, _yes_," Balthazar groaned, Lucifer obviously appreciative of his answer when he squeezed his ass and forced him down into a hard grind. Encouraged, he sucked Lucifer's earlobe between his teeth and nibbled softly. "If I wasn't ridiculously hard already, I would be just picturing you sitting in that big pretentious office of yours, surrounded by dusty old books and stuffed shirts, kicking back in that pompous leather chair you love so much, talking about litigants and injunctions and whatever else it is you snooty lawyers like to talk about," he chuckled when Lucifer smacked his ass in punishment for the jibe, "all the while your cock is hanging free and unrestricted, rubbing sensually against your slacks, just begging for attention, for a hot, wet mouth or tight little hole to keep it occupied…"

"Jesus _fuck_," Lucifer rumbled out in pleasure, his cock twitching with every crude word breathed lewdly against the shell of his ear. "Where the fuck were you earlier when I was dying of boredom during my one o'clock? I could've tucked you under my desk, had you suck me off, fucked that pretty mouth raw while I graciously feigned interest in the ramblings of morons and madmen…"

"And here I thought excessive cursing upset you," Balthazar grinned impishly, silently proud of his ability to make his otherwise poised and unflappable husband lose his mind in bliss.

"We're not exactly having a casual conversation, love," Lucifer countered, hands slipping beneath the blonde's boxers and giving his rear a hearty squeeze. "Now, about that blowjob…?"

Balthazar could only roll his eyes and chuckle fondly.

Suddenly the weight of the world didn't feel so heavy upon his shoulders anymore.

* * *

**A/N:** Oh, wow. I am such a tease... Two unfulfilled sex scenes? I don't even know how that happened. I may be able to appease any broken hearts (polite way of putting it, I guess) by adding a; "I just woke up but I'm so insatiable I can't possibly keep my hands (dick) away from you" lovemaking scene at the beginning of the next instalment - if y'all want, that is.

So yeah - awws, poor Dean. But don't despair, I have plans for him. Good ones. Probably. I also intend to add at least one new character next chapter - what's that? You want a hint? Well, alrighty then... Think sibling rivalry.

Oooh, I have such big plans. Should be good (:

Anyhow - please enjoy at your own leisure. As I said before, if y'all have any questions, comments, queries, please don't hesitate to shout 'em out!...

...And then mail me about it, because chances are I won't hear ya if you're just yelling at your computer screens.

Love and peace,

**FMV**


	3. Hook & Line

**Disclaimer:** How many times do I have to say that I own nothing? If the object of disclaimers is to push me to the brink of tears, then job done...

**Warnings:** See chapter one.

**Pairings:** Balcifer, Sam/Dean.

And, on a personal note; "Hi ho, Silver! Away!"

Enjoy, idjits.

* * *

**_~Walking the Feather's Edge~_**

_'Hook & Line'_

As a general rule, Balthazar wasn't typically what one would describe as a 'morning person'.

During the week he had a gruelling routine of rolling from crisp, body warmed sheets and stumbling through a scalding shower and meagre breakfast so that he could be ready to hit the road for eight-thirty, giving himself ample time to arrive at work for a nine o'clock start. He would grumble and complain, words grunted and attitude decidedly surly until he had his first dose of caffeine. His colleagues had long since learned to steer clear of morning pleasantries and attempted humour until at least the time lunch hour rolled around. Lucifer had once likened him to an adolescent schoolgirl experiencing fluctuating bouts of PMS – and had spent a very uncomfortable night on the couch as a result.

It was Balthazar's firm belief that men were like hibernating beasts. What was that famous expression; let sleeping dogs lie? Yes, that was perfectly adequate to describe his rather feral demeanour come first light.

Hence his complete and utter astonishment that his husband – the man he had shared a life and bed with for how many long months with now? – was currently pawing all over him before the clock had even hit double digits. On a _Sunday_.

Didn't Lucifer know him, like, at all?

"Did somebody die?" Balthazar groggily inquired, his voice low and scratchy from sleep.

"I should hope not," was the silken reply murmured against the back of his neck, warm, callused hands smoothing up over his thigh and trailing across his chest.

"Oh?" Balthazar hummed confusedly, brows knotted like he was contemplating something perplexing and eyes resolutely clamped shut. "I guess we're under attack then? China finally decided to invade? Or the Russians, perhaps?"

The hands on his body stilled, but didn't lift away. "…Huh?"

The total bafflement in that one tiny sentiment made Balthazar grin. "Well, I can only assume, given that it's _Sunday_ and barely_ nine o'clock_, that we must be under some sort of global attack?" Craning his neck, he directed a withering glare at his bewildered husband. "Because you _know_ that impending war and the death of a close family member are the only acceptable circumstances under which you are allowed to wake me at such an ungodly hour. Especially on the weekend."

"Aren't you just a little bundle of sunshine this morning?" Lucifer snorted with amusement, his hands traversing on their course once more. "I've been up since six – have already gone for my morning jog, been home to shower and change, and popped out to pick up breakfast."

Balthazar was prepared to call bullshit, but now that he was a little more awake and aware of his surroundings – thanks to a certain _someone_ – he could feel the soft scratch of cotton against his bare back and the gentle rasp of polyester basketball shorts against his thighs, which, coupled with the scent of ginseng shower gel and the Paco Rabanne cologne that had been a gift from himself for Lucifer last Christmas, all pointed toward the validity of the man's claim.

It was at times like these that the Brit really did loathe his husband's natural "up and at 'em" attitude, a point which he demonstrated quite vividly by throwing their duvet over his head and burrowing deeper within the still toasty confines.

"Come on, sweetheart," Lucifer cooed, chuckling lightly at the blonde's endearing morning blues as he attempted to pry him from his, apparently, airtight cocoon. "It's a beautiful day out, and it'd be a shame to waste it. We could go for a drive around the countryside, take a stroll somewhere new… We could bring the boys and a picnic, make a day of it."

After their argument last night concerning Dean and his visit to the clinic, Lucifer wanted nothing more than to pamper and spoil his blonde; to give him one day of relaxation where he didn't have to worry about anything or anyone but himself.

It took a minor struggle, and more strength than he had originally anticipated, but he eventually managed to wrestle Balthazar out from underneath the sheets, the Englishman's stormy grey eyes slitted into a dark scowl as he huffed about the injustice of it all. Lucifer couldn't help but grin at that adorably juvenile pout. "Ah, there he is; my beautiful English crumpet."

Balthazar allowed Lucifer to dip down and kiss him, though he did deflect at the last second so that he caught the corner of his mouth instead of his intended target; his lips.

"So cruel, love," Lucifer teased, midnight blue eyes narrowing playfully.

"Really?" Balthazar scoffed with an arched brow. "You come barging in here and disturb me from my well deserved rest, and _I'm_ cruel? And stop calling me crumpet!" he groused as an afterthought, striking out with a half-hearted punch to the redhead's shoulder. "It makes me sound like some sort of posh tart."

Lucifer simply could not resist the temptation to further harass the grouchy blonde. "Hn. And here I thought a crumpet was more of a savoury cake type deal?"

"You're not at all as funny as you think you are," Balthazar growled, turning his back to the smirking buffoon in a not so subtle gesture to leave. "If you're quite done pestering me, you and your sodding stroll can piss off."

Lucifer pursed his lips against the rising laughter bubbling in his chest. "And breakfast…?"

Balthazar thought about that for a second or two. He was well aware of his husband's cunning little scheme to make him forget all about the monstrous dark cloud hanging over their heads, and whilst he didn't think that his efforts, no matter how grand, would do much good in improving his dilemma, he couldn't begrudge the man the thought and devotion fuelling his intentions.

"Where did you go?" he queried at length, his voice mumbled from between the folds of his pillow.

"Oh, nowhere special," Lucifer replied, his tone deliberately nonchalant. "Just that little patisserie on the corner that you love so much."

There was a pregnant pause, to which the corners of Lucifer's mouth quirked up in a haughty smirk, knowing that he'd won this round. It wasn't just rumour, you know; the quickest way to a man's heart was most definitely through his stomach – and damn if Lucifer didn't know each and every avenue into Balthazar's affections. Like playing the golden fiddle, it was child's play to him.

Finally, Balthazar conceded. "I'm not getting up for anything less than a bear claw…"

Lucifer chuckled, kissing the back of his sleep-mussed hair. "Powdered, just the way you like it."

"…I'll be down in five."

Grinning, Lucifer rolled out of their bed and ambled downstairs.

* * *

"You see? I told you I could smell sugar. The nose never lies, man."

Sam peered over Dean's shoulder from where they stood in the kitchen doorway – not a terribly hard feat considering their vast differences in height – his sharp gaze settling on the pink and white confectionary box sitting idle on the countertop.

"Whaddaya reckon's inside?" Dean asked, his tone bordering on giddy whilst his feathers ruffled in excitement.

Sam arched a brow at his mate's keen enthusiasm. "I don't know, Dean. I'm not a mind reader."

"Boxes don't have minds, idiot," Dean snorted derisively.

"Psychic then, whatever," Sam growled, turning to stalk away. "Either way, I don't think whatever's inside was meant for us."

"Aw, c'mon, Sammy," Dean goaded with a mischievous little grin, one that Sam had come to learn the hard way couldn't possibly mean any good. "Aren't you even a _teeny_ bit curious?"

"No," the hellspawn deadpanned, shrugging a shoulder. "Unlike you angels, we demons don't crave sugary treats like some back-alley junkie. I know how to look after my body, thanks."

Sam flexed his biceps and abdomen, muscle and sinew rippling like a wave upon the shore. Dean merely rolled his eyes at the provocative display, mentally cursing his traitorous body when it thrummed a little in appreciation at the physical strength of his provider.

"Yeah, 'cause this piece of ass is something to be scoffed at," he jeered, stretching out the length of his taut body and fluffing up his smoky feathers in a flirtatious arch.

Interest thoroughly piqued, Sam returned to his mate, wrapping his long arms around Dean's trim waist and nuzzling his face into the creamy skin of his throat. "Of course it's not, Angel. You will always be one sexy 'piece of ass' to me."

"Yeah, well, the way you were talking you'd think I was one donut away from turning into a freakin' roly poly!"

That made Sam snicker, his tail flicking with mirth. "Not to worry, love – I'd gladly roll you wherever you wanted to go."

"Oh, shove off," Dean chided, his tone holding no real bite as he shrugged off Sam's amorous advances. Glancing at the lanky demon from the corner of his eye, he flashed a sliver of pearly white teeth. "You wanna make it up to me?"

Sam's eyes flashed obsidian. "Desperately," he purred, eagerly crowding himself into Dean's personal space, his leather pants rubbing provocatively against Dean's ripped jeans.

Dean huffed with the effort it took to effectively manhandle his excitable mate from his person. "No, not like that! Jesus, Sammy, you're like a bitch in friggin' season!"

"Maybe if you weren't such a tease…" Sam huffed, reining in his carnal desires enough to regain at least some semblance of self control, his eyes slowly bleeding back to hazel.

"Dude, _please_," Dean replied with disdain. "I only need to be awake to set you off – and sometimes you don't even require _that_…"

Sam rolled his eyes skyward but didn't argue the fact. "Alright, fine. If you don't want to fuck, what _do_ you want?"

Dean pursed his lips in a shoddy guise of innocence, his emerald gaze surreptitiously sliding toward the box of confectionaries across the room.

"Nuh-uh, no way," Sam immediately shot down, waving his hands back and forth as if to reinforce his refusal.

Dean visibly deflated. "But Sammy–"

"Forget it, Dean," Sam interrupted, folding his arms across his chest. He was in no mood for a sob story. "I'm not putting my tail on the line just so you can stuff your face with sweets. Master said he'd chain my ass down in the backyard if I disobey him again this week, and you know how testy I can get when I'm not allowed to fly."

"Oh, _fine_, ya massively overgrown pup! I'll do it myself if you're just gonna sit and bitch about it," Dean replied with a snort, bare feet padding against the cold kitchen tiles as he muttered under his breath, "Some freakin' alpha. Can't even fetch his mate a snack…"

Sam wasn't a moron; he knew Dean was purposefully baiting him – not like the hybrid was trying particularly hard to conceal the fact. And whilst he maintained enough cognitive intelligence to see straight through the devious little ploy, thousands of years, _millennia_ even, of genetic programming simply could not take such a devastating blow to his alpha pride lying down. He was the hunter, top of the pack, the 'breadwinner' as his master would put it; it was his job to see to Dean's every desire, no matter how mundane or, in this case, _in_ane – and boy did his feisty little bitch know it. He couldn't sit back and watch Dean do something that could possibly (definitely) result in punishment.

With an exaggerated sigh the demon pitched forward, catching Dean by the wrist before he got too far. "Sit, _stay_," he growled before stalking toward the counter.

Dean promptly did as he was told, sitting cross-legged in the middle of the floor, a lopsided, vixenish smirk plastered across his mouth as he watched his domineering mate close in on the prize.

Sam approached the harmless cardboard box like it might suddenly sprout teeth and go for his jugular, hands hesitating to make any kind of contact lest the consequences be instantaneous. Behind him, Dean was growing impatient with his dithering.

"Well, princess? What's the holdup?"

"Give me a goddamn second," Sam barked in response, blowing the bangs from his face before deciding to just bite the bullet and flipped the lid open. He was almost surprised an alarm didn't start blaring and a bared cage didn't drop from overhead. Peeking at the contents, he talked to Dean from over his shoulder. "Right, now that I'm here, what do you want exactly?"

Dean pondered for a second. "What is there?"

"How the hell should I know?" Sam scowled. "I'm not the one who likes all this sugary crap! I have no idea what I'm looking at here…"

"Man, you can be so useless sometimes," Dean sighed as he heaved himself to his feet. Pressing himself in against Sam's back, he peeked over his shoulder, his face lighting up like a Christmas tree at the sight that greeted him. "Whoo-boy, Sammy! We hit the jackpot!"

"We?" Sam echoed incredulously, though it was evident Dean wasn't paying the slightest bit of attention.

"Cannolis, éclairs, Danishes, and is that… oh sweet Jesus, apple turnover!"

Sam didn't know whether to be turned on at the low, throaty moans his mate was purring right by his ear or disgusted that he was about to start drooling on his shoulder.

"Will you hurry up and pick something so we can hightail it out of here, please?" he groused, ears perked for any sound of his master returning.

Dean blinked, mouth curving down into a frown. "What, you mean I can only have _one_ thing?"

"You can't be serious?" Sam scorned, brows furrowing. "As slow as you might believe master to be, I think he might just notice if the entire box mysteriously disappears into thin air!"

"Don't rush me!" Dean snapped, bullying Sam out of the way. "This is a very delicate process… I mean, there's _pie_ at stake here, man!" Reaching into the box, he carefully lifted a single pastry out and set it to the side.

Sam breathed a sigh of relief. "Great, you've picked – now let's go."

"Whoa! Hold your horses there, Sam," Dean argued, dashing the demon's hopes of a clean getaway. "That there's for Balthazar; they're his favourite."

"For the love of–!" Sam exclaimed, wings flaring in irritation as he snatched up the box, ignoring Dean's startled cry of protest, and held the contents precariously over the sink in warning. "If you don't pick something in the next five seconds, I'm dumping the entire lot out! Now, before I _pop_ a fucking _vein_, can you _please_ just–" The unmistakable _thump-thump-thump_ of footfalls coming down the stairs cut Sam off mid-rant, his hazel eyes locking with Dean's as they stared, frozen, at one another. "Oh, shit! Shit, fuck, shit – here!" In his panic, Sam pushed the box of pastries into Dean's hands.

"Sam? What the hell, man?" Dean sputtered, fumbling with the box like the demon had just handed him a live bomb.

"No time!" Sam replied, survival instincts kicking in full throttle as he hastily ushered his angel toward the back door. "Just go!"

Dean was conflicted, hesitating at the threshold of the back patio, sweets clutched to his chest and jade eyes wide with indecision. "Sammy, I–"

The door to the kitchen suddenly swung open and Sam gave Dean a final nudge. "Go, Dean; _now_!"

Lucifer entered the scene just in time to witness the angel hybrid take flight, a flash of pink and white disappearing off with him. It didn't take long for Lucifer to put two and two together, his companion's intensely guilty countenance notwithstanding, and he balled his fists on his hips, levelling Sam with a reproachful glare.

Sam could only shrug in his defence, genuinely repentant that he'd had to deliberately disobey his master, the man that had raised him from a helpless pup, but not in the least bit sorry that he'd followed his baser impulses to provide for his mate.

For that, he would _never_ apologise.

When Balthazar finally pottered down some several minutes later, it was to an ill-tempered husband and a whining demon; Lucifer reading the morning paper at the breakfast bar and Samuel sprawled sullenly across the wooden decking outdoors, thick leather collar and heavy metal chain seeming to physically weigh him down.

Quirking a brow, Balthazar poured himself a cup of freshly brewed coffee, absentmindedly picking up the bear claw left sitting on the countertop. "So," he began, stirring a liberal amount of cream into his mug, "what did I miss?"

"You mean apart from Samuel aiding and abetting your darling little 'angel' into stealing our breakfast?" Lucifer replied sourly with a rustle of his paper. "Nothing much."

"Ah, I see," Balthazar hummed, peering through the window in the general direction of Sam's attentions, and sure enough there was Dean, the hybrid lounging back quite comfortably on a low hanging branch of their maple tree and leisurely gorging himself with their baked goods. The blonde might have been a tad bit more upset if the little minx hadn't left him his absolute favourite pastry as compensation – as it was, Balthazar was finding it increasingly difficult not to laugh out loud at the whole situation. "Well, at least I got mine," he grinned, giving his surly husband a kiss on the cheek before sauntering out of the room with a barely suppressed chuckle.

Lucifer merely rolled his eyes, and if he smiled fondly, just a little bit, well there was nobody around to take any notice.

* * *

It was late afternoon, and, as per Balthazar's insistence that he wasn't in high enough spirits to endure the great outdoors, the Brit and Lucifer found themselves kicking back in the lounge instead; Balthazar with a glass of pinot and a good book, feet propped up in Lucifer's lap, and Lucifer slowly vegetating in front of the plasma watching the game, one hand wrapped around a gently perspiring bottle of Fosters whilst the other lazily massaged his blonde's feet. The high-profile lawyer wasn't usually one for sitting idle. In his experiences there were always things to be done; reports to be typed up, clients to be educated, taxes to be done, the list goes on. But all that could wait, for right now he was perfectly content to wither away the hours in the peaceful company of his beloved, where conversation was scarce but unimportant and time wasn't measured in monetary value.

If he were to die now, it would be with a smile on his face as a happy man…

…and then the phone rang and ruined everything.

Tranquillity shattered, Lucifer glowered at the blaring nuisance. "Of all the times…"

"Aren't you going to answer that?" Balthazar asked, nose still buried in the world of literary fantasy.

"I'd really rather not, as it happens."

"It could be important," Balthazar countered, prodding Lucifer in the ribs with his toe as the phone continued to trill. "Not to mention it's getting awfully irritating."

Rolling his eyes in annoyance, Lucifer swapped his beer to the other hand and stretched across the armrest to pluck the phone from the hub on the end table. "Hello, you've reached the Devil's Den, Lucifer speaking – how may I be of service?"

Balthazar snorted at his husband's childish behaviour, gently shoving his shoulder with his foot in reprimand. His easy grin soon dissipated however, when Lucifer suddenly stiffened beneath him and sat bolt upright, his hand clenching the phone with much more force than was necessary.

"Wrong number, asshole," he growled through gritted teeth before hanging up and tossing the phone down on the coffee table.

"Who was that?" Balthazar prodded, though he had his suspicions.

Lucifer shot him a misplaced glare before collapsing back against the couch. "Nobody."

"Oh?" Balthazar carefully righted himself, placing his book and glass down on the table. "And are you usually in the habit of calling 'nobody' an asshole?"

Lucifer curled his lip but didn't respond. It only took only a few short moments for the phone to ring once again, but Balthazar was ready for it, jumping up from his vantage point to snatch it up and dance safely out of reach before Lucifer could even organise himself enough to sit upright.

Dutifully ignoring his husband's blatant orders to the contrary, Balthazar accepted the call. "Hello?"

"At last, the voice of reason. Hello, Balthazar."

Suddenly his decision to answer didn't seem like such a good idea, after all.

Flicking his gaze to Lucifer, who just gave him a mordant stare as if to say _'I told you so'_, Balthazar sucked on his teeth and replied with a cool, "Mr. Milton… To what do we owe this unexpected pleasure?"

There was a chuckle on the other end, the man's voice as smooth as liquid silk. "Always with the classic British charm. Some things never change, huh Balthy?"

"That's Mr. Pellegrino to you," Balthazar retorted, refusing to fall prey to the man's tangled web of wicked grace and bewitching charisma. He wouldn't be fooled twice. "What do you want, Michael? And do make it snappy, my husband and I were enjoying a nice quiet rendezvous before you so rudely interrupted."

"My apologies." Balthazar couldn't help but notice the complete lack of sincerity in Michael's tone. "I was actually looking to speak with you, _Mr. Pellegrino_."

Balthazar narrowed his eyes at the barb. "So speak."

There was a brief pause, and then, "I've got a business proposal I'd like to extend your way–"

Balthazar's response was swift and concise, a resounding, "Nope."

"You haven't even heard what it is yet," Michael sighed, and Balthazar could practically _see_ the man rolling his sharp blue eyes.

"I don't need to hear it, Mikey," Balthazar argued, the old pet name slipping out without his consent. "You've either lost your marbles completely, or have suffered some fairly serious head trauma, if you honestly think that you and I working together again is anything less than a catastrophic idea."

This caught Lucifer's attention, who was suddenly on his feet and fixing Balthazar with a severe warning glare. Balthazar scowled right on back, holding his hand up to cease his husband's advance.

"Just listen to me," Michael commanded more than suggested, an unfortunate repercussion begot from one too many years ordering others to do his bidding. "You know I wouldn't be calling if I didn't think you were the right man for the job – fuck it, the _only_ man for the job. Don't make me grovel, Balthazar, because you and I both know I can't stoop that low…"

Balthazar pursed his lips. There was just something about Michael Milton, cavalier multimillionaire and hardass CEO of Ethereal Inc., begging _him_, a lowly researcher and former underling, for a favour that made his insides coil with something akin to excitement. Even hearing the usually so stoic and professional man curse was a rare and heat inspiring occurrence. God, Balthazar could still remember a time way back when the only time Michael would ever dare utter such vulgarity and filth was when the words were rasped into his ear, bed sheets tangled around their writhing, sweating bodies as Michael surged forward and, and…

Balthazar swallowed thickly, angling his body away from Lucifer to avoid that penetrating midnight gaze as he quickly banished the cobwebs from a long and sordid past, that seemed like a lifetime ago now, from his mind.

"Well, you seem desperate enough to warrant my attention, so… I'm listening."

"Wonderful," Michael rumbled, shit-eating grin implied in the silky lilt of his voice. "As you very well know, Ethereal Incorporated recently amalgamated with Dick Roman's ElysianCorp. We're holding a social gala next week at The Plaza to schmooze some of our wealthier benefactors into giving generous donations to some of our new and upcoming scientific ventures. I would really like for you to be there so that I can introduce Mr. Roman to the new leading head and board chairman for the Research and Development department of our New York branch."

Balthazar was speechless, but not necessarily for the right reasons. "I, uh… I honestly don't know what to say." Rubbing his chin in contemplation, he had to manoeuvre himself around the coffee table to avoid Lucifer's incessant grabby hands. "New York, though? That's quite the commute."

"Not if you lived here," Michael breezily opposed. "You would easily be making double what you do currently, perhaps even close to _triple_. You'd be a fool to refuse me, Balthy."

Balthazar clucked his tongue. "Hm, yes; now where have I heard _that_ line before, I wonder?"

Michael gave a throaty chuckle, the sound not unlike a soft growl and darkly seductive. "Just… think about it. You don't have to give me an answer right now, but either way I would still like to see you at the gala. Remember, it never hurts to be seen in the right social circles."

"Or with the right socialite, you mean?" Balthazar scoffed.

"I see your bite hasn't diminished any over the years," Michael murmured in a baritone Balthazar knew all too well. "Still as sharp and fiery as when we first met…"

"And Lucifer?" Balthazar quickly cut in, frowning in disapproval as if Michael were standing right in front of him.

There was a long pause, during which Balthazar could only surmise Michael was working a nasty tick in his jaw as he was prone to do when irritated. "What about him?"

"Well I assume his invitation to your little soirée simply slipped your mind?" Balthazar inquired in a sickly sweet tone. "I also assume that you're going to set us up in one of the luxury suites for the night seeing that it would be a mighty big inconvenience for us to travel all the way back home the same night?" For a long while there was nothing, and Balthazar could all but feel the man seething on the other line. A sly little grin curved one side of his mouth. "Michael…?"

Michael exhaled, long and slow. "As you wish. But in return, I will be expecting a favourable response to my proposal – preferably with a better outcome than my _original_ proposal."

"Low blow, Milton," Balthazar sneered, seriously contemplating reaching down the receiver to bitch-slap the sass right out of his mouth. "Email me with the details, and we'll see you next week."

Balthazar hung up before Michael had the chance to reply and tossed the phone onto the couch. Raking a hand through his golden locks, he pivoted slowly to face his none-too-pleased husband.

After a long stretch of silence, Lucifer threw his arms out in frustration. "Well? What did the colossal dick want?"

Balthazar chewed pensively on the inside of his cheek, his stormy gaze cloudy with the weight of the impending conversation. "Have a seat, darling. We need to have a little chat…"

Lucifer took a guarded step back, his eyes narrowing speculatively. Oh, he _so_ wasn't looking forward to where this was going…

* * *

**A/N:** Well, I got there eventually. Sorry it took so long - I work long hours, and mostly nights, so I spend most of my days asleep long into the afternoons. I get a break sometimes, though; like this week, for example, I had three days off. In a row. Pure bliss. So, yeah... I write when I get the time, but it won't always be as swift as the first two chapters.

Again, apologies.

But I digress... I hope y'all enjoyed this latest instalment. I had actually planned on writing a lot more (originally I had planned on having the whole gala shindig in this chapter) but time was slipping away from me - as was the plot - and I posted what I have thus far before it got ridiculously long and out of hand.

Hmm, yes. Expect Michael in the (cyber)flesh next chapter, as well as tensions running high and perhaps some revelations of Balthazar's tangled past. Dean and Sam in this chapter were merely providing us with some comic relief, I should think. I didn't want to leave them out completely, hence their silly little cameo. Don't rightly know what I'll have them doing in the next instalment whilst Lucifer and Balthy are otherwise engaged in New York - any suggestions as to what you guys want them to be at? Left with a 'babysitter'? In the house on their own? Taken with to the gala where they gripe and complain about being stuffed into full clothing? Pitch me ideas and I'll see what I can do (:

Please do enjoy... Until next time, peace-out,

**FMV**


	4. Full-Frontal

**Disclaimer:** Don't own. Won't ever own. Now, pass me that gun right there...

**Warnings:** See chapter one.

**Pairings:** Balcifer, Sam/Dean.

And, on a personal note; Assassin's Creed 4: Blag Flag is totes fucking amazeballs! Avast ye, scurvy dogs!

Enjoy, assbutts.

* * *

**_~Walking the Feather's Edge~_**

_'Full-Frontal'_

The day of the fundraising gala, Balthazar and Lucifer donned their most elegant finery; Balthazar in a casual black Christian Dior suit with a gold tie, and Lucifer in a charcoal grey Hugo Boss three piece, and packed their bags for their luxurious overnight stay in the Plaza.

Lucifer still wasn't at all thrilled with the idea of attending the function, not one damned iota. He needn't possess fantastical physic abilities to know that one erroneous move, one misplaced word or fleeting glance thrown the wrong way, and it was the recipe for unmitigated disaster. Lucifer wouldn't trust Michael as far as he could throw the unctuous, conceited son of a bitch – and oh so gallantly offering to put them up for the night in one of the swankiest hotels in the world? Well, shit, Lucifer knew a fucking sales pitch when he heard it. Only problem was he had yet to figure out exactly what Michael was trying to pedal them.

Or rather, more specifically, what he was trying to entice out of _Balthazar_. Men like Michael always concealed an ulterior motive, always had a hidden agenda up their sleeves, and Lucifer would be damned if he didn't figure it out before his blonde got himself burned.

"Good lord, Luce," grumbled said Brit from the doorway to their en suite. "I think you've preened and pampered enough, wouldn't you agree? It's already past three, and don't forget we've to drop the boys off on the way."

Adjusting his blood red cravat tie one last time, Lucifer stepped away from the mirror. "Yes, I remember. How could I forget when you remind me every five minutes, my sweet?"

"Don't be snarky," Balthazar warned with a tsk. "Now come along, it's high time we got a move on."

As Balthazar turned to leave, Lucifer surged forward and caught him about the waist, pulling the startled blonde in tight to his chest. "You look absolutely _ravishing_, love," he murmured on a seductive breath, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin behind his ear.

A whip of excitement cracked down Balthazar's spine, and he was sorely tempted to take his husband up on his not so subtle suggestion, but instead he expertly twisted out of Lucifer's demanding hold and threw the pouty redhead a saucy little grin.

"I know I'm irresistible, darling, but do try and keep it in your pants tonight, hmm? Save it for the honeymoon suite…"

"The honeymoon suite?" Lucifer inquired with an arch of the brow.

"Mhmm," Balthazar replied, chuckling airily. "I knew how badly it would get Michael's goat, and just had to ask. I only wish I could have seen his face."

Lucifer couldn't help but laugh, dipping forward to kiss his beloved firm on the mouth. "You wily little minx. I ought to put you over my knee right here and now…"

Balthazar cupped the back of Lucifer's head, pulling him into a hungry kiss loaded with dark desire and scandalous promise. "Later, love," he smirked, stormy eyes hooded and lips pleasantly moist. "_Definitely_ later."

Lucifer gave a wicked, razor sharp grin as he crudely palmed the blonde's shapely backside. "I'll hold you to that."

Playfully swatting his husband away, Balthazar sashayed out of the room, hips swaying to a beguiling beat that had Lucifer licking his lips and following helplessly behind like a foolish little puppy just hoping for a treat.

* * *

Sam quite enjoyed long car journeys; the passing scenery, the new and exciting smells, the wind blowing through his hair. Dean, however, did not. The shapes and colours whizzing by in a nondescript blur made him feel nauseas, the sporadic movements of the car, especially over dirt and uneven roads, made his stomach tie in knots, and all the foreign scents only served to remind him that he was nowhere familiar, nowhere near home.

Before Sam and Lucifer had come into their lives, Dean had been used to travelling a lot. Balthazar would often take him out for long drives through the countryside, to visit friends, and even to accompany him at work the odd time. Dean suspected that his master didn't much like spending time alone. But ever since Balthazar's marriage to Lucifer and the joining of their two families, Dean was perfectly content to spend all of his time at home, in the little love nest he had created with his mate and alpha. He was settled now, comfortable; he had no desire to venture out and explore like he did when he was a young and curious fledgling – why should he when he had everything he could possibly want with his Sammy?

Glancing over at the demon now, Dean frowned at the look of pure excitement and wonderment Sam displayed so openly upon his face, like every sight, sound and smell was something to be awed. Sam had practically plastered himself against the window, eyes and head frantically darting back and forth, up and down, this way and that, as if he looked away for even a second he might miss something important. It was enough to make Dean snort. In contrast, he was slouched down low in his seat, determinedly _not_ looking out at the scenery rushing by. He just could not get comfortable; his stomach felt like it was sloshing about in his gut, his throat felt parched with motion sickness, and his wings were beginning to cramp up. Yet another thing to envy of his alpha – Sam's big leathery wings were a lot more resilient than Dean's own feathery extensions, he could afford to sit in confined spaces for long periods of time and not have to worry about his plumage getting matted and tangled.

He didn't know how much longer he could take this nightmare before he either expelled the contents of his breakfast or throttled the dozy, happy-go-lucky grin from Sam's attractive face. And if that goddamn tail smacked him in the thigh just _one more time_…

Up front, Balthazar was stealing quick glances at their companions through the rear-view mirror whilst Lucifer drove the rumbling Jaguar down the long stretch of highway. He felt bad for Dean, the poor lad – he looked as miserable and pallid as Samuel did bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. He really did loathe to see him look so wretched, especially given what he'd been through recently…

"So," Lucifer suddenly spoke over the gentle hum of the engine, garnering Balthazar's attention. "Charlie called yesterday whilst you were out."

"Oh, yeah?" Balthazar hummed, feigning innocence – and failing quite miserably.

Lucifer cast the elusive blonde a sidelong glance before focusing back on the road ahead. "Yes. It's the damnedest thing, really – she said she's been having great difficulty reaching you these past few days." Lucifer didn't miss the slight tensing in Balthazar's shoulders. "Strange, huh?"

"Very," Balthazar agreed, surreptitiously avoiding Lucifer's penetrating gaze. "Though I suppose I have been awfully busy this past while, what with work and preparing for the gala and whatnot. It's not surprising, really. I mean, the amount of paperwork alone I had this week has been–"

"Oh, stop," Lucifer scorned, brows knitting into a scowl. "Who are you trying to bullshit here? When are you going to grow a pair and just admit that you've been avoiding her like the bubonic plague?" Scoffing, he pillowed his cheek on his fist, his elbow resting against the window. "You know, I never pegged you for a coward."

Mirroring Lucifer's posture, Balthazar stubbornly glowered out at their fellow motorists. "Can we please not argue about this right now? I rather think we have enough to deal with on our plates."

"Fine by me, sweetheart," Lucifer muttered sourly, hitting the gas a little harder as they lumbered onward toward their destination.

* * *

The rest of the journey was wrought with a dense and stagnant silence, the only sounds to fill the void being the animated, incomprehensible chatter of Sam and the occasional, ill-tempered grumble from Dean. So when the off-ramp for "Eden Sanctuary and Boarding" finally cropped up just outside of Yonkers, Balthazar could physically feel the tension draining from his pores.

Sam became extremely antsy as the car rolled to a stop, tail flicking and wings beating, and even Dean perked up straighter in his seat to view their new surroundings.

"Settle, Samuel," Lucifer admonished sternly, glaring at the restless demon. "You're going to ruin the upholstery."

Balthazar chuckled as he stepped out of the car, opening the back door for Dean and leaving Lucifer to deal with the excitable demon. Dean happily jumped out, rolling his stiff neck and stretching out his aching wings, sighing as the wind ruffled through his knotted feathers. Meanwhile, Sam damn near bowled Lucifer over in his haste to get out of the confines of the back seat, his bat-like wings arching high and wide and accidently smacking a cursing Lucifer upside the head.

"Bloody hell, boy, watch where you're swinging those damn things," he groused, rubbing the back of his head and glowering over the roof of the car at the quietly snickering Brit. "Oh, you think this is funny, do you?"

"Very much so," Balthazar replied with a cheeky grin and a wave of the hand. "Quit your bellyaching and let's do this thing. We have to get back on the road tout de suite."

Grumbling darkly under his breath, Lucifer grabbed hold of the thick leather collar he'd had the fortunate foresight to slap on Samuel before they left and more or less hauled the demon into the grand compound behind an infinitely more calm and composed Dean.

Upon entering the reception, they were greeted with a high-pitched squeal with a frequency the likes of which made even hybrid and demon wince in pain. Dean was only just regaining his composure back when he was, for lack of a better word, bodily _assaulted_. Long, willowy arms wrapped tight about his neck, locking him in what could only be described as a chokehold, and a warm, supple body plastered itself to his front.

"Oh my gosh!" a sharp, feminine voice gushed in his ear, the smell of floral perfume and foreign skin infiltrating his senses. "I so totally didn't believe him when he told me! I was like; 'Get out, no way!' And yet, here you are! You have got to be the most adorable little thing I have ever seen!"

Dean wrinkled his nose, feather's bristling in offense. Adorable? Little? _Thing?!_

"Ahem," Balthazar coughed politely from the sidelines, his expression a potent mix of concern for his struggling companion and avid amusement at his delicate predicament.

The petite brunette woman gave him a brief onceover for his troubles, but otherwise seemed inclined to hang off of Dean's neck like a living, breathing fashion accessory. Lucifer, who was busy holding back a fairly incensed alpha, was just about to weigh in when a new presence suddenly joined them and stole focus.

"Ah, Becky," the scruffy looking man interceded gently, his voice timid and movements unsure. "We've talked about this before – several times, actually… Could you please release our, um, guest there?"

The brunette, Becky, audibly huffed, wringing one last lingering squeeze from Dean before reluctantly stepping back, a petulant pout painted across her lips. Dean immediately took several large steps back himself, edging closer to Sam who was all too happy to curl his tail possessively about his denim clad thigh.

Wringing his hands out in a nervous gesture, the man took a tentative step toward Balthazar. "My sincerest apologies about," he waved his hands in the general direction of Becky before a cold glare stopped him short, "all that," he eventually settled with. "My assistant here was, how you say, extremely enthusiastic when I told her we would be receiving a hybrid today. It's all she's talked about the past few days – and boy does she love to talk. _A lot_…"

"I see," Balthazar replied, biting his bottom lip to keep from laughing out loud; a feat made damn near impossible at Becky's indignant, 'Hey! I heard that, you know!' Instead, he stepped up to the man and extended his hand. "Balthazar. I believe you've been expecting us."

"Chuck Shurley," the man replied with a hearty shake, his hesitant, lopsided smile somewhat endearing. "And the introduction really isn't necessary." At the quirk of Balthazar's brow, he hurried to elaborate. "Oh, ah, that sounded a bit creepy… What I mean is, at the risk of sounded like some kind of rabid fanguy–"

"Fan_boy_," Becky corrected with an exaggerated eye roll in Dean's direction, like they should be sharing a private joke at the man's idiocy. Dean merely frowned and backed up that little bit closer to Sam.

"Right, fanboy, whatever," Chuck rambled, quickly dropping Balthazar's hand at the blonde's pointed stare. "Let's just cut to the chase; I am a great admirer of your work, Mr. Roché. Your every thesis, published dissertation and public seminar I've either read thoroughly or attended twice. Your outstanding research and dedication to the field of supernatural is what gave me the knowledge and inspiration to open Eden. Without you, I wouldn't be here today. I cannot thank you enough, Mr. Roché."

Balthazar was genuinely taken aback. Whilst true that he was somewhat used to praise and commendation for his accomplishments since joining the R&D department at Ethereal Inc., it had never been quite to this degree of worship, and certainly not from _one_ man. He was speechless.

"Thank you, Chuck," he replied humbly. "It's always nice to know that one's lifework is appreciated."

"And it's Pellegrino, actually," Lucifer spoke up for the first time since entering the building, his hands tucked neatly into the pockets of his slacks as he stared unwaveringly at the now stammering owner.

Chuck gave a nervous little laugh, rubbing at the back of his neck. "Ah, yes, of course! I knew that, honest, uh…?"

"Lucifer," he answered casually, taking a certain degree of pleasure from Chuck's obvious discomfort. "Lucifer Pellegrino."

"Chuck," the younger man offered again, quickly discarding his attempted handshake when Lucifer merely cocked a brow at the action, and instead corralled Becky in close with an arm about her waist. "This is Becky Rosen, my assistant slash receptionist and, uh, fiancé." He felt compelled to mention the latter, not at all liking the dark, calculative gaze Lucifer was shooting his way. Clearing his throat, he decided it was probably best to get down to business. "Right, okay… So this must be Dean and Sam."

Hybrid and demon snapped to attention at the mention of their names, both anxious in their own ways as to what they were doing there.

"Yes," Balthazar supplied, beckoning the companions forward with a wave. "Samuel here is an alpha archdemon and succubus mix, and Dean is a beta hybrid, archangel and kitsune yōkai mix."

"Such an amazing specimen," Chuck awed, studying Dean for a lingering moment before quickly shaking out of it and gesturing for the small group to follow his lead. "If you want to step this way, I can give you a tour of our facilities and show you where your companions will be staying." Glancing back he caught sight of Lucifer ostentatiously checking his watch. Swallowing thickly, he picked up the pace a little. "A brief tour, of course, is what I meant."

"Please, we would love to," Balthazar replied, throwing Lucifer a condemning glare over his shoulder as he went. Lucifer simply rolled his eyes and tagged along behind with Becky bringing up the rear, her eyes fixated on the muscular back of the alpha demon and wondering silently to herself if she wasn't a tad bit hasty in declaring her undying love for Dean…

* * *

A short ten minutes later and Chuck was concluding their tour. Sam and Dean had been left with Becky in a secure room where there was no risk of accidently bumping into other supernatural companions – though Balthazar couldn't help but think what was going to save his boys from Becky herself?

He stubbornly pushed that harrowing thought to the back of his mind, and instead focused on their surroundings. Balthazar had to admit that he was rather impressed with the place. Chuck mostly stuck to the boarding side of the compound, showing them the spacious sleeping quarters, each 'nest' stocked with a plentiful supply of pillows, bedding and blankets, and carefully sectioned off from one another with steel bars so as to award each companion with their own space and yet still allowing for interaction with those around them if they so desired. Each nest was big enough to easily accommodate mated pairs, though as they passed through Balthazar noticed that the majority only housed singular companions.

Chuck then lead them up a set of stairs and into a room marked 'Observatory', a room with a panoramic view of a vast and expansive exercise/respite area, where they were able to, unsurprisingly, observe the many boarded companions that were currently exploring an awe inspiring jungle of sprawling grasslands and dense forestry, all encased in a large, protective dome, allowing the ethereal beings to laze and play and fly as they saw fit without risk or harm.

"Meal times are twice a day, at ten in the morning and then five in the evening," Chuck was explaining as they surveyed the dome from behind what he assured was a thick and protective layer of glass. "We feed every companion healthy, nutritious foods like fruit, vegetables and red meats, but if you have a specific dietary requirement just let us know and we'll do our best to accommodate those needs."

"Uh, no," Balthazar answered distractedly, his focus enraptured completely on the many different sizes, breeds and colours of companions milling around in the dome. "Nothing like that. Whatever you have will suffice."

"Excellent," Chuck grinned, thrilled to see _the_ Balthazar Roché–eh, that is _Pellegrino_, so enthralled with his little empire. "Apart from meals and lights out at eleven pm, we pretty much allow the companions to do as they please out in the dome. I firmly believe that a well rested and invigorated companion, one exposed to a good diet and plenty of exercise, is ultimately a happy one."

Balthazar couldn't help but grin, recognising the words as a citation of his own from one research journal or another. "I couldn't agree with you more, my good man. I have to say, this place is simply astounding. You have done a marvellous job."

To the left of the duo, Lucifer rolled his eyes at the way Chuck practically glowed under the praise, and only just resisted the petulant urge to tell them to get a room already. Instead, he interjected himself back into the conversation (and existence) with a comment of his own. "Are fights a common occurrence here?" he inquired, pointing out what looked to be a minor skirmish between an alpha angel and alpha demon down in the dirt by the edge of the trees. "Perhaps the merging of angels and demons in the same vicinity isn't as wise as you might have thought."

"Oh, on the contrary, Mr. Pellegrino," Chuck replied in a light but assuring tone. "Studies have conclusively proven that angels and demons are more than capable of being around and tolerating one another's company. Alpha, beta, omega – it doesn't matter one iota as long as none are in season. That's why our only stipulation is that none of the companions we take in are close to entering or, indeed, finishing a heat cycle. Aside from general aggressive behaviour in dominant males, excessive pheromones are the only real cause of sudden and sporadic hostility."

"Well, somebody's certainly done their homework," Balthazar hummed with a smirk, watching himself as the scuffle down below began to escalate. "Though I am curious as to what measures you have in place to deal with this sort of thing? Do you simply let it play out, or personally get involved and intervene yourselves?"

"No, no, nothing like that. We have completely non-violent ways of dealing with trivial tussles like this." Balthazar noted the self-satisfied grin edging across Chuck's mouth, and found his curiosity well and truly piqued for the fact. "Just watch, gentlemen, and you'll see what I mean."

Fascinated, Balthazar eagerly leaned forward on the rail, eyes glued to the spectacle, and even Lucifer inclined himself forward, albeit much more subtly than his husband. At first, nothing appeared to be happening; demon and angel were rolling around on the dusty earth, hands grappling and teeth snapping, both trying to gain the advantage and assert their natural dominance whilst a small gathering of other companions circled around them. And then Balthazar's keen concentration picked up on the sudden change; both angel and demon became more sluggish, their every blow and nipping bite growing heavy, like they were brawling underwater. In mere seconds both had collapsed, the angel sprawled out on top of the demon, chest heaving as if in great exertion before gradually slowing down to deep, even breaths.

Balthazar blinked, his jaw a little slack – they were both out cold!

"How on earth…?" he breathed, turning an inquisitive brow on the proudly grinning Chuck. "What happened to them? I've never seen anything like that before!"

Lucifer, too, favoured the man with a curious look.

Chuck cleared his throat, suddenly uncomfortable being in the centre of attention. "It's, ah, my own invention," he began, rubbing his palms against the thighs of his jeans. "See the collars they're all wearing?" Balthazar and Lucifer glanced out, studying, before nodding in confirmation. "Well, they're fitted with clever little sensors that read the rate of their pulse and can detect the slightest change in hormone levels. So say, for example, an angel or demon becomes aggressive or, ah, overly enamoured with another companion, their collar will pick up their elevated heart rate and pheromone imbalance, and once it reaches a certain level it will administer a powerful–yet totally safe, I assure you, electrical shock. And, if that isn't enough to deter them, and the levels continue to rise, the collar will then inject a small dosage of tranquiliser directly into the neck." At Balthazar's raised brows and Lucifer's uncertain frown, he hastened to add, "It's a very mild sedative that only knocks them out for five to ten minutes given their size and body mass – usually just enough time for them to forget why they were fighting in the first place, or for my staff to separate them if needs be." Glancing back toward the dome, he gestured with a jut of his chin to the KO'd duo. "Ah, see, see? Completely harmless."

Sure enough, as Balthazar turned to look, the demon caught up in the fight slowly began to come around, wriggling itself out from beneath the angel's bulkier frame. Stumbling slightly as it regained it's balance, the demon shook out it's likely cramped wings before swiftly taking flight and disappearing into the trees, not once looking back.

"Well, that is… _amazing_," Balthazar raved, his inner scientist positively _purring_ with the logistics and possibilities of such a marvel invention. "You are quite the little genius, Chuck. Seriously, you should think about marketing those bad boys; I know of some very reputable companies that would be _very_ interested in such a product."

Chuck felt heat rush to his cheeks. "Ah, yes, well I only just implemented the collars late last year, and thus far haven't had much success gaining a foothold in the retail side of things…"

Balthazar knew a business opportunity when it smacked him in square the face and eagerly pounced right on board. "Well, I'd be only too happy to help you out, mate. As I said, I know some exceptionally influential people who would be all over this little venture of yours. If you'd be willing, I could throw you up that ladder so fast it'd make your head spin." Blatantly disregarding the obnoxious cough Lucifer gave in warning, the Englishman turned fully to the endearing budding entrepreneur, flashing him the most charming grin in his arsenal. "Whaddaya say… partner?"

Chuck nearly choked on his own saliva at the generous offer, hurriedly slapping his hand into the blonde's open palm before he could think to take it back. "Y-Yes, of course! I couldn't possibly express my gratitude enough, Mr. Ro-eh, Pellegrino!"

"Excellent!" Balthazar beamed, searching through his suit pockets and producing a business card which he handed to Chuck. "Give me a call Monday, and we'll set up a meeting."

"I will," Chuck assured him, tucking the card safely away in the pocket of his jeans. "Thank you again."

"Don't mention it," Balthazar waved him off with a flattered smile.

"Oh, but I mean it, I honestly–"

"He said don't mention it," Lucifer brusquely cut in, laying a heavy hand on Balthazar's shoulder and steering him toward the observatory exit. "If you'll excuse us, we have a very important prior engagement to attend, and we've dwindled quite enough time away here as it is."

Chuck floundered like a fish out of water, before starting in with a myriad of apologies. "Yes, o-of course, right this way." He led the duo back down the stairs and through to a corridor Balthazar recognised as the one they had originally travelled down. Here Chuck stopped, turning to eye the two men curiously. "Would you like to stay while we introduce Sam and Dean into the dome? Some people prefer to witness the initial acclimation for peace of mind."

Balthazar opened his mouth, ready to agree to the proposal, but Lucifer beat him to it. "No, that won't be necessary. I'm sure everything will go smoothly regardless of our presence." Taking Balthazar's elbow, he guided the grumbling blonde back toward the reception area. "Thanks for, well…" He shrugged, not entirely sure he was going with that particular sentiment, firmly tugging Balthazar along behind him. "Come along, love. We're going to be late, and then I'll never hear the end of it."

"Goodbye, Chuck – call me if there are any complications!" Balthazar hastened to call over his shoulder before he was directed through the double doors leading to the foyer and Chuck and his hesitant little wave were severed from view. As soon as the doors swung shut, he wrenched himself from Lucifer's hold and gave him an icy glower. "Well, that was incredibly rude. Congratulations, darling; you are now officially an ass."

"Oh, please," Lucifer scoffed, straightening out the lapels of his suit. "You would have stood prattling on and on with that simpering sycophant all the live long day if I hadn't literally dragged you away. It was like watching a pair of lovesick puppies slobber all over one another."

Sniffing, Balthazar brushed past his husband with a certain swagger in his step. "You know, green is such an ugly colour on you…"

It took a moment or two for the penny to drop, but when it did; "Don't be absurd! Like that scrawny scruffball is any competition!"

"Oh?" Balthazar returned, a cunning smirk curling his lips as he paused at the exit. "Then why so defensive, love? Hmm?"

The door clicked shut behind him, and for a long minute Lucifer just stood there, dumbstruck, and seriously re-evaluating his priorities, before he abruptly snapped himself out of it and marched toward the exit, mumbling a heated, "Ridiculous. I am _not_ jealous," to nothing but thin air.

* * *

Dean was extremely relieved when the haggard looking male finally returned after what seemed like a lifetime left alone with the obsessive, sparkly-eyed brunette chick. She hadn't put any moves on him since the horror that was their first meeting, and Dean would wager that had mostly to do with the fact that Sam was present and hovering close beside him, but he could tell that she wanted to – oh how _desperately_ she wanted to. And what was worse, she was fervently eyeballing his Sammy now, too! She was like a woman possessed!

So when Chuck entered the room Dean immediately sagged with relief, only to stress right back up again when he realised that neither Balthazar nor Lucifer were accompanying him. _What the hell?_

Sam, sensing his mate's distress, curled his tail high around Dean's thigh and ran his fingers softly through his ruffled feathers. "What's the matter, Dean? You're unusually tense."

"Unusually tense? Are you freakin' kiddin' me?" Dean snapped harshly, jade eyes narrowed. "We're in a strange place _teeming _with the scent of other alphas, betas and omegas, our masters are gone, without so much as a 'see ya later!', and to top it all off we were left alone with some kind of rabid harpy going through what I can only assume is some kind of human heat cycle! Of course I'm fucking tense, Sam!"

Sam eyebrows shot up to his hairline, bewildered at his mate's hostile response. "You mean you don't like it here?" Dean gave him a hard look that answered his question without the need for words. Sam snorted. "What's not to like? Everything is new; the sights, the sounds, the smells… I can't wait to get out of here and explore them all!"

Dean just looked perplexed, like he had no idea who this gibbering demon in front of him even was, and was about to demand that he snap the fuck out of it and find a way for them to get the hell out of this nightmarish prison, when the perpetually edgy human male and his peppy sidekick suddenly approached them. He was speaking in soft and soothing tones – or at least what Dean presumed were supposed to be as such, considering everything the man said sounded nervous and awkward to his ears. That's when Dean noticed that he was carrying a long strap of leather in his hands.

Dean instantly backed away, eyes darting warily between man and contraption. "Sammy?" he uttered anxiously.

"Calm down, Dean. It's just a collar," Sam answered, Dean glancing over in his direction to discover that Lucifer's own collar had been switched out for the new one, Becky fussing and fawning over what a good boy Sam had been throughout the transition.

Dean wasn't used to being collared. He was never one to cause trouble where it wasn't warranted, and so Balthazar had never seen just cause to ever use one. The idea of putting one on now, especially without the calming influence of his master's presence, was unsettling to say the very least.

"I don't like this," Dean growled, swatting away Chuck's every attempt to get close enough to put the collar on. "It's not like I'm in trouble or anything… Why do I have to wear the damn thing?"

"I think it's just one of their rules," Sam shrugged, preening under Becky's ministrations as she scratched her long nails over his scalp. "I caught a glimpse into the nesting area earlier, and the angels and demons I saw in there were all wearing them."

Dean was having none of it, though. "Oi!" he barked at his purring alpha. "Ya think you could pull yourself away from Miss Grabs-a-lot there for just a second and back up your _mate_, huh?!"

"Oh don't be such a fledgling," Sam admonished, though he did pull away from a pouting Becky. "Just let him put the collar on, please Angel? For me? I want to get out of this stuffy room already…"

Dean had an infinitely bad feeling about all of this, but how could he refuse his alpha his wish? Especially when he used those big, soulful hazel eyes on him. He fell hook, line and sinker every damn time.

Gritting his teeth, he allowed Chuck to carefully approach and place the collar around his neck, hissing in warning when he tried to tighten it past what Dean himself deemed comfortable.

Adequately satisfied, Chuck and Becky then beckoned hybrid and demon out of the room and down a large corridor toward another set of doors guarded by a keypad and mechanised locks. Sam was practically bouncing on the balls of his feet as Chuck entered a six-digit code into the pad, wings arching and beating as the whir and clunk of the locking system gradually slid free and the double doors opened up wide. Blinding sunlight and a dizzying symphony of sounds and intermingling scents immediately assaulted Dean and Sam's senses, the hybrid licking his lips as his vision slowly adjusted and he cautiously surveyed the sprawling dome.

With a gentle nudge he was urged further into the immense enclosure, reluctantly following behind his eager mate as the doors slammed closed behind them. The first thing Sam did was rip off his constricting leather pants, a quick scan of the other companions milling around revealing that clothes weren't exactly a necessity. Dean rolled his eyes, opting to keep his own ripped denim jeans on – he didn't want any unfamiliar alphas misconstruing his nakedness as an open invitation to get fresh.

With his unique DNA, it was often hard to discern Sam's possession over him, their bond unbreakable in heart and soul, yet hard to secure on body. Even Sam's scent was diluted and weak against his skin, unless, of course, they had copulated fairly recently. Dean was hoping that their rampant fucking the previous night would be enough to advertise Sam's mark of ownership, and made a mental note to entice the demon into scenting him just as soon as the alpha calmed down. Christ, he was like a human child in one of those confectionary stores – he didn't quite know where to look first, his beautiful leathery wings rising high and wide in a sociable arch, and his exotic olive skin practically glittering in the golden rays pouring in from above. He was devastatingly gorgeous, Dean mused, the thought only reaffirming his determination for that scenting session to happen as soon as humanly possible…

It wasn't long at all before they had garnered enough attention to make Dean anxious, dozens of pairs of eyes swivelling in their direction as angel and demon alike stopped what they were doing to evaluate the newcomers. There were no other hybrids in sight, which was of no real surprise, though it did add to the mounting sense of trepidation crawling beneath Dean's skin.

Dean was about to reach out for Sam – not to cling on for reassurance or any other kind of mushy crap like that, fuck no! But rather to demand that, as alpha and self-proclaimed 'provider', he find them a one-way ticket out of this hellhole, when a sudden rush of wind and the distinct, heavy beat of demon wings pulled him up short.

Peering around Sam's broad shoulders, Dean felt his stomach drop like a lead weight and his teeth grit down to the bone. Standing in front of Sam was a slender, dark haired demoness, her every supple dip and sloping curve out in full-frontal viewing pleasure as she cocked her hip and folded her arms beneath two perfectly round, perky breasts. Her pretty features and smokin' hot body made her a knockout – and fuck if that alone didn't make Dean _seethe_.

"Hey," she greeted in a sultry voice, her gaze flicking to Dean briefly as though to include the hybrid when they both knew rightly that she was speaking solely to Sam. "We haven't had fresh meat around here in a few days… Pleasure to meet'cha."

Sam wisely chose to refuse the proffered neck for scenting when the demoness tilted her head, though he didn't back away from her either. "Hey! The name's Sam, and this is my mate, Dean," he offered with a grin, his tail lashing to and fro in anticipation of gaining a new friend.

The demoness let a slow smirk curl her luscious pink lips, casting another covert glance in Dean's direction before sidling up closer to Sam and letting her tail slither around and entwine itself with Sam's own – a common sign of companionship between demons, though Dean knew it was anything but innocent 'companionship' this harlot was after.

"Ruby," she introduced herself, her smile positively toxic. "Come on, Sam. Lemme show you around…"

Sam glanced back at Dean with a bright and utterly clueless grin, urging his mate to tag along. Dean curled his lip and grudgingly traipsed along behind the pair, his blood simmering quietly beneath the surface.

Oh, yeah. He _definitely_ had a bad feeling about this…

* * *

**A/N:** Huh. Well, I didn't get nearly as far as I had originally hoped with this particular chapter. I had wanted to be well into the whole gala shindig, with Michael and Balthy and Luce in a delicious little triangle of love and lust and deceit... But oh well, that will come next, I suppose.

The whole sanctuary/boarding refuge idea is for **LeeMarieJack**, who wanted to see a manipulative!Dean enticing Sam into a jealous rage - so, here ya go, sweetpea! Plenty of opportunities for perhaps a scorned and cruelly ignored Dean to win back Sam's attentions and affections through underhanded methods, ne? We'll have fun, I'm sure.

As always, if anyone has any requests/suggestions/desires, lemme know and I'll try to accommodate (:

Oh, and yes, in case anyone is wondering, I know Castiel is listed as a character, and Destiel as a pairing, and it will happen - it's just taking much longer than I had ever planned or anticipated to get there... Oops, laugh ^^'

Until next time, drop a line and enjoy bitches!

**FMV**


	5. Smoking Guns

**Disclaimer:** *Checks, just in case her every dream and wish has suddenly come true* Ulgh, nope. Still own squat.

**Warnings:** The yummy stuff. Possessive!Sam.

**Pairings:** Balcifer. Sam/Dean.

And, on a personal note; "Son of a bitch!"

Enjoy, darlings.

* * *

**_~Walking the Feather's Edge~_**

_'Smoking Guns'_

Well, Dean was officially bored out of his freaking mind.

Bored, and a whole fucking heap of _pissed off_.

It wasn't bad enough that he'd been left behind in this strange place with all of its foreign aromas and weird sounds, with its high ceiling that alluded to freedom but was in actual fact nothing more than a giant bird cage. But now he had been totally abandoned – and by his own friggin' mate of all things! Where was the justice?

Sitting on the soft dewy grass with his naked back pressed up against the scratchy, mosaic-like bark of an old elm tree, he could only watch through slitted jade eyes as Sam paraded around with a small gaggle of naked, grovelling demonesses, unwittingly flaunting a heart and body that was definitely _not_ for sale – and Dean had his suspicions as to which of the two the she-devils were currently drooling over.

Technically – and Dean used the term _very_ fucking loosely – Sam wasn't doing anything wrong. He maintained a respectable distance, only venturing as close to any single one of them as social etiquette allowed, he gently but firmly redirected any lingering touch or brush of the wings, and did minimal petting himself bar the occasional entwining of tails when it was offered. But at the end of the day, Sam was still a proud and dominant alpha male, and centuries of carnal instincts and animalistic urges meant he couldn't fight his natural, inbred impulses to advertise his beautiful body and physical prowess in the face of such keen interest. For every seductive arch of his impressive wingspan and flex of corded muscle that Dean knew in such intimate detail, the hybrid clenched his jaw just that little bit tighter.

Dean was (fairly) confident that he had nothing (little) to worry about. For all of his primping and showboating, Sam was completely and irrevocably devoted to his Angel. It had been quite a while since the two of them had been exposed to such a large and varied assortment of other companions, and Dean supposed he couldn't really begrudge Sam his Neanderthal-esque tendencies. If anything, he should be flattered that his mate and alpha was wielding so much attention and ardent admiration, all whilst safe in the knowledge that it was him the strutting dominant male would ultimately return to nest with.

But, unfortunately, it wasn't as simple as all that. Their mating was seriously lacking, weak and in some cases almost ineffectual, especially when measured against the strong and oftentimes palpable bond other mated pairs shared. As such, Dean wouldn't be surprised if the flock of leering demonesses currently swarming around _his_ Sammy had any clue whatsoever that the alpha wasn't up for grabs.

Savagely plucking the head off of yet another unsuspecting dandelion, Dean crushed the soft yellow flower between white-knuckled fingers when Ruby again attempted to rub her naked body against Sam's – no doubt trying to saturate her scent onto his skin before any of the others could claim first dibs. To Dean's relief, Sam quickly cottoned on and carefully deflected her body away.

His relief was short lived however when, instead of sending the bitch packing, the moron curled his long, limber tail around Ruby's calf – the calf representing friendship, compared to the knee or higher which demonstrated intimacy – to keep her close and hinder any offence he may have caused with his rebuff. The she-bitch positively beamed at the contact, and Dean felt like scratching his own eyes out just to escape the torture.

Jesus fuck, just how naïve _was_ Sam anyway?

"You're right to be wary, brother – that Ruby is one truly insidious snake, no doubt about it."

Dean started at the thick, southern accent that seemingly spawned out of thin air, and hurriedly scrambled to his feet. There, leaning casually against the same tree where he'd been sat mere seconds ago, one foot propped up and arms folded, was a demon male, his posture and imposing wingspan simply screaming _alpha_. Dean was happy to note that at least he wasn't the only one around here wearing pants of some description.

His automatic response was to ruffle up his feather's, wings flaring up in a threatening manner as he attempted to appear bigger than he actually was. The new alpha snickered in a way that got Dean's back up, like a lowly hybrid beta couldn't possibly be a threat to one such as himself, and Dean growled low in warning.

"Easy there, tiger," the alpha drawled with an easy grin, hands held up in a placating gesture of goodwill. "I ain't gonna try nuthin'. I've been watchin' you since you came in, since Ruby there got her talons deep in your little friend and ya were dumped like yesterdays trash. Figured ya could use some company, is all."

"Yeah, thanks but no thanks," Dean muttered darkly, his keen gaze keeping a close watch on every twitch and movement the alpha made. "I'm doin' just fine on my own – oh, and that '_little friend_' just so happens to be my mate, so you can back off, buddy."

"Really now?" the alpha asked, glancing curiously in the direction of Sam and the baying harpies before fixing Dean with a somewhat sceptical stare. Pushing himself away from the tree, the alpha dusted himself off and extended a large hand out to Dean. "I'm afraid we might've got off on the wrong foot here… Name's Benjamin, brother, but ya can call me Benny."

Dean stared at the proffered appendage for a long and awkward moment, a frown marring his brow. Handshakes were a total human thing; angels and demons were a lot more physical with introductions – touch and smell both very important when determining status, position and strength. Hence his confusion.

The alpha, Benny, huffed out a gruff laugh. "It's just a hand, tiger; it ain't gonna bite ya."

"It's weird, is what it is," Dean grumbled but took the hand in a firm shake regardless. "And it's Dean, not 'tiger'."

Benny grinned. "Well, _Dean_, ya didn't seem mightily comfortable with my presence, so I figured a handshake was more appropriate than, say, an informal sniff'n'grab."

"You're not wrong there," Dean agreed with a reluctant little grin of his own. He guessed this Benny guy wasn't so bad after all… "So, Benny – what can you tell me about the Desperate Housewives over there?" At the alpha's amused quirk of the brow, Dean smirked and shrugged his shoulder. "What? Don't judge me, man, it's a good show! Even if half the time I have no freakin' clue what they're saying…"

"I didn't say a word, tiger," Benny chuckled with a good-natured grin, and maybe Dean decided to let the nickname slide this time. Scratching idly at his bearded jaw, Benny covertly pointed out each demoness vying and contending for Sam's attention. "The one with the bob, there? That's Tammi. Pretty harmless as far as they go; more sheep than shepherd, if ya catch my drift. The blonde next to her is Lilith, a real nasty piece of work – but don't worry, as much as she exhibits her interest, she's only got eyes for purebred archdemons; I'm talkin' real dark, controllin' slimeballs. Your mate couldn't hope to contend, even if he wanted to…"

Dean didn't know how to feel about that. Whilst glad that it was one less rival he had to bitch-slap back to the Stone Ages, he couldn't help but feel rather miffed. What the hell was wrong with his Sammy, huh? What, suddenly he wasn't _good enough_, was that it? Ha! He ought to march right on over there and show that blonde bimbo just how powerful his alpha truly was, how virile and worthy and–

"Focus, Dean," Benny commanded with a snap of his fingers, breaking Dean from his possessive stupor. Grinning when the hybrid glowered at him for the order, he carried on where he'd left off. "Now the other brunette is Meg, Ruby's closest confidant, and similarly her greatest adversary. You're gonna wanna watch those two close, 'cause when one starts sniffin' around somethin' that don't belong to 'em, then ya'd better believe the other isn't far behind. They'll chase the same game for the simple fact that they don't want the other one to have it."

Dean had a hard time wrapping his head around that one. "That… makes no sense whatsoever."

"Bitches," Benny said with a shrug, as if that single word explained everything. "They're crazy."

Dean chuckled. He was really starting to warm up to Benny; he was open and friendly, had such a deep, masculine drawl and an authoritative yet pleasant aura – not at all like most douchebag alphas he'd met in his life. If Dean hadn't already fell for and settled down with Sam, he knew for sure he'd be luring the Southern alpha into his arms and between his legs before the day was out. Benny certainly looked like he knew his way around a beta's body, those big hands and sturdy torso perfect for pinning down and manhandling unruly bedmates (not unlike himself) into whatever position he very well pleased…

…okay, new train of thought.

"So," Dean coughed, purposefully avoiding Benny's shrewd blue gaze, "how do you suppose I go about taking on four horny she-devils? You gonna back me up or what?"

"Well, goin' at them head-on sure is one way to go…" Benny conceded, rubbing contemplatively at his chin. "Though I reckon I have a much quicker solution, one pretty much guaranteed to work."

Dean perked up at that, a grateful smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Oh, yeah? Whatever it is, I'm game. I'm sick of watching 'seduction for dummies' over there."

"There's a good lad," Benny grinned, taking a bold step forward and placing his hands gently upon Dean's shoulders. The hybrid immediately tensed. "S'alright, sugar. Just relax now."

Dean could have laughed. Relax? Yeah, _right_. "Uh, what the hell do you think you're doing?"

Benny couldn't blame the cagey beta for being so mistrusting. It wasn't every day an alpha put his hands on a beta or omega without expecting something in return. "I meant what I said before; I ain't gonna hurt ya none." Rubbing his hands down Dean's bare arms, he watched the play of emotions war across the hybrid's face as he struggled with what he should do. Hoping to make the decision easier for him, Benny pulled him a little closer. "D'ya trust me, Dean?"

Trust. Such a small and simple word, yet one loaded with tricky implications and insurmountable shades of grey…

"I know I probably shouldn't…" Dean began, his eyes pinched with guarded caution even as he relaxed a mite under the alpha's large hands. Peering up into Benny's clear, azure blue eyes, he was surprised to find nothing sinister swirling in those unfamiliar depths, only a certain kind of confidence and a sense of kinship that he hadn't felt with another companion since Sam. With a small, lopsided smile, he relaxed a touch more. "But what the hell? While the cat's away, right?"

"That's the spirit, brother," Benny grinned, and before Dean could say another word the alpha curled an arm around his waist and spread his wings, the giant limbs shadowing Dean's entire body, before one strong beat saw them rocketing from the grassy forest floor and disappearing into the thick canopy of leaves overhead.

Down below, Sam's acute hearing picked up on the distinct flap of heavy leather wings and the rustling of disturbed leaves. But, just as he was about to turn and investigate, Meg snared his attention with a clawed hand on his bicep, suddenly very curious as to the details of his lineage. Sam frowned, that niggling sensation at the back of his mind trying desperately to remind him of something, something _important_, but before he could dwell any further upon it Ruby was right there on his other side, the demoness fogging his mind with curiosities and complements and pheromones…

…and suddenly his higher brain functions didn't seem so important anymore.

* * *

_**Later that evening, in New York…**_

By the time Balthazar and Lucifer arrived at the Plaza Hotel it was 7:38pm and they were running nearly forty minutes late, the gala already in full swing. Cursing, Balthazar hurriedly signed them in at reception and turned to Lucifer with pleading eyes.

Oh, Lucifer knew that look all too well – and it never spelled anything good for himself.

Sighing, he gave the blonde a gentle shove toward the function room. "Go on, before you give yourself a goddamn hernia. I'll deal with the bags and the concierge and what have you…"

"Thanks, lover," Balthazar hummed with a smile, pressing a salacious kiss to the corner of Lucifer's mouth. "I'll be sure to make it up to you later tonight…"

"Oh, I'm rather sure you shall," Lucifer replied with a cheeky wink and wicked smirk. "Now, bugger off. I'll find you just as soon as I can."

With one last parting kiss, Balthazar made his way through the lobby and to the Grand Ballroom where the gala and festivities were taking place.

Upon entering – after proving to the security detail by the door that he was in fact who he claimed to be – he was immediately swept up in the buzzing atmosphere. The room was elegantly decorated, of course, and the guests were packed from front to back, gathered together in groups both large and small. The men, he noticed, were mostly congregated in the general vicinity of the bar, glasses of bourbon and single malt whiskey clutched within hands decorated with signet rings and platinum watches, and imported Cuban cigars tucked neatly into breast pockets just waiting to be sampled and savoured at a later date. The women; devoted wives, hopeful girlfriends and undoubtedly a cheeky, questionably young mistress or two, milled around in decidedly smaller groups, painted (_collagen_) lips sipping champagne and wine from beautiful crystal flutes, dressed in the latest Gucci and Dolce dresses, necks, wrists and ears sparkling with diamonds whilst perfectly manicured fingers clutched Prada purses close to their ample bosoms.

Snagging a glass of champagne for himself from a passing tray, Balthazar made a mental note to avoid all cliques of women at all costs – they tended to get very catty at social events like this. _What is she _wearing_? She's sleeping with _who_?! Looks like _someone's_ been piling on the pounds…_ Yeah, these were all topics he wished to avoid, thank you very much.

Moseying his way toward the bar, nodding politely at those he recognised from other such functions along the way, he kept a vigil eye out for any sign of the elusive Mr. Milton. He'd just ordered himself a whiskey sour when a warm and familiar hand gave him a solid clap on the back.

"Well, well… Better late than never, I suppose."

Swallowing back the first sarcastic retort that immediately popped into his head, Balthazar turned to greet the very man he'd been searching for. "Michael, good evening." There was no denying it, the man was exceedingly handsome; his tall frame, dark hair and piercing blue eyes a captivating cocktail of rugged masculinity and slick supremacy. Gripping Michael's hand, he forced a demure smile.

Shaking hands with Michael was something of a novelty for Balthazar – there wasn't an single inch of solid, fair skin on that athletic body that he hadn't traced his with his tongue or had quivering under his fingertips at one time or another, and now suddenly clasping hands seemed almost awkwardly intimate.

A novelty, indeed.

"It's good to see you again, Balthazar," Michael commented, the sincerity behind those fathomless blue eyes enough to make Balthazar uncomfortable. "It's been much too long."

"Has it?" Balthazar replied coolly, reaching for his wallet when the bartender passed him his drink. "I hadn't noticed."

Seizing the blonde's wrist, Michael threw a quick glance at the bartender. "Put that, and all subsequent drinks, on my tab."

"No," Balthazar interjected with a scowl, carefully tugging his wrist free and slapping down enough bills to cover his check. "Thank you, but I was under the impression we were here to fund the company, not me."

The young male behind the bar looked hesitant, but when Michael gave him a half-hearted shrug, he quickly picked up the money and dropped the remainder in the tip-jar upon Balthazar's request to, "Keep the change."

Stepping away from the bar, Michael took Balthazar's elbow and guided him away from prying ears. "Look, I wasn't trying to win any favours or anything, I was just–"

"Save it, darling," Balthazar cut in, twisting himself out from Michael's hold so that they were now standing face to face. "I know _exactly_ what you were 'trying', and I will say this only once; I'm not here for any of that. I am here to listen to your proposal and contribute to the cause, nothing more." Smartly fixing his tie, he cast his stormy gaze over Michael's rigid frame in a critical onceover before turning on his heel. "Come and find me in about an hour's time. I should be sufficiently merry by then to deal with you."

And with that, Balthazar walked away, blending in with the mingling crowds and leaving Michael stood there gaping like some simpleminded fool.

A derisive chuckle from behind quickly snapped him out of it, however, and, eyes narrowing, he turned to face the culprit. "Luci," he drawled, an ugly sneer painting his lips as he straightened up to his full height. "The prodigal son finally returns – or should that be _bastard_ son?"

"A pleasure, Mikey, as always," Lucifer droned, taking a casual sip of his champagne. "Tell me; when are you going to invest in some fresher material? Shit's gettin' real old."

"Terribly sorry. Did I hit a sore spot, little brother?" Michael replied, his grin one a Great White could be proud of.

Lucifer pursed his lips, attempting to smother a smirk as he cast his brother a cutting glance. "Not as sore as the spot I dealt you when Balthazar said 'I do', I would imagine…"

Michael clenched his fists, face contorting in barely contained rage. "You're no better than a common thief, Lucifer! Always wanting what you couldn't have; cowering beneath my shadow and biding your time, just waiting for the opportune moment to stab me in the back!"

"Well then, perhaps father should have picked a better name for me," Lucifer replied with an menacing smile. "And then maybe I wouldn't have tried to live up to my reputation."

Michael visibly bristled at that. "You leave father out of this! He was a great man–"

"Oh please, he was barely even _human_," Lucifer scoffed darkly. "He cared more about his wealth and public image than he ever did his own flesh and blood. If he'd paid our mother even a _modicum_ of the fucking love and attention she deserved, then she never would have had to look elsewhere for it."

"That _woman_," Michael hissed, his tone dripping with more venom than a rattler, "was little more than a fucking harlot. The smartest thing father ever did was to cut her out of our lives – though why he kept _you_ will forever be a mystery to me."

It was no mystery to Lucifer.

The man he'd grown up with, who he'd once upon a time called 'dad', was a cruel and sadistic man whose sole purpose at times seemed to be to inflict as much misery and feeling of worthlessness into Lucifer's life as humanly possible; the bastard child born to a faceless man his mother had lain with in a time of neglect and desperation.

When Mrs. Milton had announced the news of her second pregnancy, and Mr. Milton senior found out it was to be another son, they were overjoyed. Michael was four years old, and already fast learning to stand on his own two feet under his father's strict guidance; how she longed for the total dependence of a newborn babe. Her husband was simply glad that he would have two strapping lads to shape and mould, to inherit his glorious empire when he was too tired to care anymore. It was blessed news, truly.

But alas, it wasn't to last…

Mrs. Milton's betrayal soon came to light when her baby boy was born some eight months later – with a head full of downy soft strawberry-blonde locks.

Outraged and publically humiliated, Mr. Milton senior cast the 'streetwalking tramp' out onto the streets and, in a final act of spite and revenge, kept the bastard child to raise as his own. Naming the boy Lucifer as a constant reminder of the unholy sin under which he was conceived, he brought his 'son' up with a firm hand and military like discipline, leaving him to wallow in the inky shadow of Michael's greatness until the tender age of sixteen when a particularly heated argument between father and son revealed a hint of the sordid past so long ago buried and stricken from the record books.

A hint was all Lucifer had needed, though. He threw himself into his studies then, surpassing every low-hung bar and stunted expectation set out before him, so that when he turned eighteen he could stroll straight into his father's office with his head held high, college acceptance papers clutched proudly within his palm, and tell the sanctimonious prick to "fuck right off" once and for all.

He left home that very same day, and two short months later dropped the Milton name that had been weighing him down like a physical presence for _too long_, and instead adopting his mother's maiden name; Pellegrino.

Still, with every cloud comes a silver lining, and when Mr. Milton senior passed away from liver failure – Lucifer had warned his brother that the man was a rotten old drunk – he attended the funeral out of respect for his mother alone, and that is where he met a cocky, silver-tongued Englishman by the name of Balthazar, the love of his life and future Mr. Pellegrino.

Okay, so the foxy little blonde had _technically_ been engaged to Michael at the time, but to Lucifer that fact was little more than an inconvenience. And besides, everybody knows it was simple sibling economics; one must always have what their brother possesses…

…and in the end, the better man won.

"You and mother are so much alike it makes me _sick_," Michael spat, continuing on with his tirade. "Neither happy with what you've got, with having the whole damn world laid out before your feet, so you go and take what you please elsewhere like the iniquitous whores you are."

Lucifer arched a boorish brow at that. 'Whore' was certainly a new one. "Yes, well, perhaps if you had spent a little _less_ time riding along on daddy's coattails and forging an empire, and a little _more_ time at home satisfying your man, then we'd be having a much different conversation right now."

Michael's blue eyes were blazing with contempt. "You are an arrogant asshole, Lucifer."

"And you are a conceited fool, Michael," Lucifer easily returned. "Now, if you'll please excuse me, I have a _husband_ to attend to…"

Before Lucifer could take even a single step, Michael's usually ironclad control over his temper snapped and he lunged forward, fisting a hand in his younger brother's lapel and whirling the man around to face him.

"You always have to have the last word, don't ya, Luci?" he seethed, eyes narrowed to slits and jaw working an awful tick. "I _loathe_ you, baby brother. From the very moment our slut of a mother brought you screaming into this world my life has gone from bad to worse to _Hell_… The fact that we share the same blood makes my skin _crawl_. You might have Balthazar now, but make no mistake, you will pay for every wrong you have slighted me since the second you drew your first breath. Mark my words, Luci…"

Lucifer, as calm and collected as ever, like he didn't have a raving psychopath spitting words of cruelty and acid in his face, firmly removed Michael's hand from his person, his gaze as cold and deadly as his tone.

"Restrain yourself, brother – you're creating a scene." Sure enough, a handful of guests had stealthily inclined their bodies and attentions toward the duo, hoping to catch even a snippet of the conversation to rekindle the gossip mills later on, no doubt. Rolling his shoulders, Michael straightened himself up and took a respectable step back, calling a truce in the name of appearance – for now, at least.

"This isn't over," Michael warned him as Lucifer nonchalantly righted the creases in his shirt. "Not by a long shot."

Lucifer wasn't the least bit perturbed by the alleged threat, having heard the same spiel more times than he could possibly count throughout the course of his life by this stage. Disregarding the barb completely, he levelled his brother with a penetrating stare.

"I would watch your tone, big brother," he cautioned, his tone chillingly caustic. "You're beginning to sound just like father."

Michael had no biting comeback to that, knowing that Lucifer thinking of him on his father's level was about as low a blow as they came.

Lucifer chose that moment to leave, aware that if he stood in brother's company even a second longer they would both do something they would live to regret, and instead pushed himself through the sea of nameless faces in search of the shining ray of warmth in his otherwise cold and miserable existence. When he spotted Balthazar not far from where the stage and podium had been set up, talking to a svelte brunette woman with more jewellery than sense apparently, he could swear that his heart melted just a tad.

Oh, yes – he was most _definitely_ the better man.

* * *

**_A few hours previous, at Eden…_**

"…and ever since then we've all lived together up in Boston. It's been pretty great, I guess."

Dean was regaling Benny with the story of his life, or the highlights at any rate. They were sat high up in the canopy near the rear of the dome, kicking back on a thick tree limb; Dean inclined forward and sitting cross legged whilst Benny sat close behind, gently grooming the kinks and knots from the hybrid's soft, smoky feathers. Having lived with Sam for so long, Dean had forgotten just how awesome social grooming could be – having someone pamper and fuss over you without the expectation of something in return. Of course, returning the favour was considered only polite, part of the etiquette as it were, but it wasn't necessarily a prerequisite.

For such big, strong hands, Benny was surprisingly gentle. Dean was hard pressed to keep his purring at bay. Talk about embarrassing…

"It sure is strange," Benny commented as diligent fingers untangled a particularly fussy mesh. "You say you and Sam have been mated, what, two years now?"

Dean nodded. "There abouts."

"And yet, it ain't easy to tell…" When Dean tensed, he was quick to mollify. "Easy. I don't mean no offence, tiger. I was just sayin' that, well, ya don't smell much like any alpha's gone and claimed ya. Ya bear no marks, no sigils, no scent…"

"Hybrid, remember?" Dean answered with a shrug. "I don't have any sigils because it's the demon side of me that reacts to Sam. As for the marks and scent; I guess I just don't have enough juice to hold them, you know? Doesn't really matter how often we renew them, they never stick around for long."

A troubled frown graced Benny's lips then, his hands falling away. "Huh. That sure sucks, brother. No wonder Ruby and the rest of the Pink Ladies have been pawin' all over your mate." When Dean cocked a brow at him from over his shoulder, Benny merely flashed him an impish grin. "What? You're not the only one who watches crappy human entertainment. Which reminds me; be sure and keep a look out for Dr. Sexy M.D. – I reckon ya'd like it."

Dean made a mental note of the name. "Will do. Thanks, bro."

Smiling at the endearment, Benny got back to work. "So, you and Sam… ya thought about rearin' any little critters? Might be a more effective way of advertisin' your claim on one another?"

Dean went ramrod stiff at the mention of 'little critters', choking down the sudden lump in his throat as his feather's shuddered without his consent. Benny instantly picked up on the abrupt plummet in mood, and knew he'd gone and royally shoved his foot in it.

"Ah, Jesus, tiger… I didn't mean to bring up nuthin' painful."

"Naw, it's fine," Dean hastily reassured, though his voice wavered slightly. "I mean, we've been tryin' and all… Just haven't reaped any rewards yet."

Benny rubbed his shoulders in soothing circles. "I'm sorry, brother."

"Don't even worry about it, man. It's not like it's the end of the world or anything, right?" Dean gave a hollow chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck as he repositioned himself to face the Southern alpha, suddenly very uncomfortable with being touched in any way. "But hey, that's more than enough about me! I've been yammerin' away like a freakin' chick at prime time. Tell me about you."

Benny bobbed his head, more than happy to move the conversation along after his grievous faux pas. "There ain't much to tell, really… More or less the same old routine every day here; nothing much ever changes. Same faces, same food, same old dome… Not exactly exhilaratin'."

"Wait, wait, wait…" Dean frowned, holding a hand up. "Do you–? How long have you _been_ here?"

Benny scratched his chin, mulling. "Precisely? I've lost count. But I'd wager it's got'a be close to five years by now."

"Five _years_?" Dean gaped, jade eyes wide with disbelief. "Don't you have a home? A family?"

"I did, once upon a time," Benny answered evenly.

"But, what–? I mean, why–? How can you–?" Dean took a measured breath to try and calm the mass of different thoughts currently whirring through his head at the speed of light. For his part, Benny just looked amused. "What the hell happened?" he finally landed on.

Benny gave a snort of laughter at the blunt question and leaned back, supporting his weight on his hands behind him as he settled in for the long haul.

"I was born and raised in Louisiana, spent my fledgling years with the Lafitte family. I was always closest to the youngest daughter, Katie, followed her everywhere; through school, then on to college, and eventually when she moved out and got her first apartment." Benny smiled to himself, remembering the long, hot summer days and biting winter nights he'd spent with his human in their pokey little home. It had a leaky ceiling in the bathroom, the air con was always on the fritz, and the plumbing was loud enough to wake the dead; but it was _theirs_, their own 'little slice of heaven' as Katie would always say. They had both been very content, until… "That's when she met a handsome young man, Thomas Cassidy, and, well – I ain't ever seen her so happy, tiger. She was all smiles, all the time."

"So, what happened?" Dean pried, body inclined forward, completely enthralled with the tale.

Benny just had to chuckle at the hybrid's enthusiasm. "Well, Thomas had only been down south on business, and after two weeks had to return home to Manhattan. Katie fell so hard, and it broke my heart to see her in pain – so when Thomas asked her to come back with him, we didn't think twice. We packed up our lives and left everything we had ever known behind… And that's when it all went down the gutter."

"What, did Thomas turn out to be a real dick or something?"

"Not at all. Thomas was a perfect gentlemen, always treated Katie right. It had less to do with the humans and more to do with me. Or rather, me and Cassidy's companion."

"Oh…" Dean breathed in sudden comprehension. "Shit."

"You can say that again, brother," Benny concurred, eyes dark as he lost himself in the memories of years past. "Thomas owned an alpha archangel, Uriel; a _real_ piece'a work. He was on my back from the second our eyes first met; he couldn't abide me encroaching upon his space, and it was clear he wanted me gone. Our constant fighting and bickering was puttin' strain not only on the two of us, but also our humans. Katie was so damn upset, and it was all my fault… I tried to reign it in, to just get on with it and ignore him, for Katie's sake if nothing else – but I couldn't help it! That self-righteous _bird_ was purposefully rubbin' me up all the wrong ways." Taking a moment to compose himself, Benny slouched forward, arms folded in his lap and a look of utter defeat clouding his eyes. "Eventually it was too much. We were out for blood, and one of us had to go…"

"And they chose _you_?" Dean growled, outraged at the sheer stupidity of the decision. "That's fucking bullshit, man! At least you tried, for Katie…"

"But isn't that exactly the point?" Benny argued with a bittersweet smile. "When all was said and done, it was still Uriel's home. It's only logical that I should be the one to leave. And besides all that, I loved Katie. I would do anythin' if it ensured her happiness… even when it means havin' to say goodbye."

"That freakin' _blows_, bro," Dean sympathised, unable to accurately comprehend just how soul-destroying it would feel to be abandoned by Balthazar. The thought was enough to make him queasy. "So she just dropped you off here, just like that? Wham, bam, thank you ma'am?"

Benny scrubbed a hand over his face, laughing ruefully at the hybrid's crass phrasing. "She visited for a while, would call by every week or so. Then it was every few weeks, then once a month… Finally it dwindled down to every few months, and then, well, she stopped comin' altogether."

"That's so fucking unfair!" Dean exclaimed, hands gesticulating wildly. "How can you be so… _okay_ with that?"

"Five years is a long time to come to terms with heartache, tiger," Benny shrugged coolly. Sure, it still hurt to think or even talk about, but the wound was healing nicely. "Besides, last I saw her she had a real nice diamond on her finger and a belly swollen with child – how could I possibly resent her anythin' when it's clear that she's loved and well provided for? Love can't always be selfish, you know…"

"I don't know how you do it, man," Dean shook his head in disbelief. "If I was ever dumped off like a two-bit hooker, you'd better believe I'd pitch a bitchfit of freakin' _epic_ proportions!"

"I don't doubt it for a second, tiger," Benny grinned, stretching his arms high above his head and peering up at the position of the sun through the spattering of leaves. "Hmm, should be around dinner time by now. Ya hungry, brother?"

"Starved," Dean answered now that he stopped to think about it. "They got anythin' good in this joint? 'Cause I could _murder_ a bacon cheeseburger right about now."

Shaking his head in mirth, Benny gave him an apologetic look. "Sorry, but we ain't got nuthin' like that. Just fruits, salads and red meats, I'm afraid."

"Ulgh, rabbit food," Dean groaned in distaste, falling back dramatically against the tree branch. "Sounds like just the sort of thing that Sa–"

"_Dean_!"

Dean blinked, instantly recognising the cry of alarm to be that of his alpha. Huh, speak of the devil…

He was just about to sit up and call back, perhaps let his neglectful mate stew for a few minutes longer, when he was suddenly trailed to his feet and pushed back, a large, solid body barricading itself between him and Benny. Sam growled, a deep, aggressive rumble low in his chest, his wings spread high and wide in a show of dominance and his every muscle coiled and ready to snap into action. Dean couldn't remember a time his mate was so visibly livid, his alpha nature shorting out his more logical brain functions and turning him into a savage, snarling beast – and by fuck was it a _huge_ turn on.

"What the hell is going on here?" the incensed Sam demanded, his leathery wings vibrating in agitation and eyes a bottomless obsidian. "Who the fuck are you?"

Whilst expecting the hostile reaction – it had been his plan all along, after all – Benny still maintained the presence of mind to hold his ground, his own wings flaring up in answer to the threat before him.

"The name's Benny, brother," he stated calmly, wanting to avoid any physical altercation if he could help it. He knew the risks of his little scheme, but didn't want to upset Dean any. "You can relax; I mean no harm."

"Don't tell me what to do," Sam snarled, his arm holding back a struggling Dean as he eyed the rival alpha in front of him. "And I am not your _brother_." He spat the word out like it was acid upon his tongue. "You have five seconds to explain what you were doing up here alone with _my_ mate, and if I don't like the answer then I'm going to rip you to shreds…"

"Chill the fuck out, Sammy," Dean protested from behind, his feather's ruffled up in anxiety. "It wasn't Benny's fault, we were just–"

"Enough, Dean!" Sam barked, fixing his mate with a hollow glare and twitching imperceptibly when his collar administered a nasty shock for the spike in testosterone. "I'll deal with you in a minute." Turning back to Benny, he bore his teeth in a snarl. "Well?"

"He was lonely," Benny answered simply, watching with a note of satisfaction when Sam frowned. "You were too busy gallivantin' around with Ruby and her merry band of misfits to notice that your own mate was left behind in the dirt. He was pretty upset, so I brought him up here to take his mind off it; nothing more, nothing less."

Sam faltered for a moment, his eyes bleeding back to hazel, before he pulled Dean close to his side and sneered. "What I do with my mate is none of your concern. Next time back the fuck off, or I won't be so lenient."

Before Benny had the chance to rebuttal, Sam spread his wings and took off, an avidly objecting Dean tucked in close to his chest. Benny snorted and scratched his head, quickly losing sight of the duo in the thicket of trees and branches and leaves.

Grinning to no one but himself, he gave a small salute. "Guess I'll catch up with you later then, tiger…"

* * *

"Sam! Seriously, dude, what the actual _fuck_? Put me down, dammit!"

With a burst of adrenaline, Dean finally managed to wriggle free from Sam's steel-like arms. Unfortunately, they were still up in mid-air and the hybrid, unable to right himself in time, crash landed into small cluster of shrubbery. Swearing eloquently under his breath, Sam swooped down just as Dean was clambering free.

"Shit, that hurt," Dean grumbled as he brushed himself free of dirt and shook the broken twigs from his wings. Fisting his hands on his hips, he glared at his mate. "What the hell was that back there, Sam? You were acting like a real douche, you know that, right?"

"I don't care how I was acting, Dean!" Sam retorted harshly, his brows knotted in a deep scowl. "What I want to know is what you were doing with that other alpha!"

"Hey," Dean growled, taking both Sam and himself by surprise with the intensity of it. "Benny's a nice guy! He was there when _you_ weren't!"

"It doesn't matter where I was – I could be on the fucking _moon_, Dean, but that doesn't give you the right to go and do as you please with some other alpha that I don't even know! He could have hurt you and I wouldn't have been there to protect you!"

Dean snorted. "Well maybe if you had been payin' even a _lick_ of attention to me instead of Ruby and those fucking _sluts_ you might have noticed that I was gone…"

"It doesn't work like that, Dean, and you know it," Sam stated coldly, taking an ominous step toward the hybrid. "_I_ am the alpha here; _you_ obey _me_." Hooking a finger over the lip of Dean's collar, he tugged his angel flush against his body, relishing in the skin-on-skin contact after everything that had happened. Dipping his head, he growled lowly in Dean's ear, "Your body belongs to _me_, Angel. No one else is allowed to lay a single _finger_ upon it without my express permission – do I make myself clear?"

Dean's entire being was shivering with every word of possession and authority breathed against his ear, the slow burn of arousal stirring low in his belly. His wings and body had long since gone lax, his tongue too heavy and throat too dry to form anything even remotely literate. All he could do was draw shallow breaths and nod, the weight of his alpha's dominance and the heady taste of his pheromones turning him into a soft and pliable mess to be shaped as Sam saw fit.

"Such a good bitch," Sam crooned, pleased with his beta's easy submission. Guiding Dean to lay down upon the grassy floor, the excited alpha quickly stripped the hybrid of his jeans, nose buried in the creamy skin of his throat and long, sinuous body draped protectively over Dean's smaller frame. "Mmm, I'm sorry if I frightened you before, beloved. Sometimes you drive me to the edge of madness and I just lose my mind." Licking a sensual stripe across Dean's racing pulse, he purred contentedly at the sweet taste and gently rocked his hips, taking great pleasure in the gasping moan he elicited from his mate. "I can't help myself around you, Dean. Always wanna fight for you, provide for you, care for you, _love you_…"

Dean threw his head back with a loud whimper when Sam accentuated his last words with a firm thrust against his throbbing sex, his eyelashes fanning against his cheeks as he panted for breath. "S-Stop, Sammy… We shouldn't do this; not here."

Sam wasn't overly fond of that suggestion, and so chose to ignore it. "Why not?" he asked, nipping lightly at Dean's shoulders, his hips still working at a steady rhythm. Smirking at the hybrid's obviously waning resistance when creamy thighs fell open wider, he tugged on Dean's earlobe with his teeth. "What's the matter, Angel? Don't you want to take your alpha's cock?"

"Sam…" Dean moaned, eyes fluttering shut and insides slicking in anticipation.

Sam grinned wickedly, the smell of his angel's arousal overwhelming his senses. "That's it, baby," he purred in encouragement, his large hands gripping Dean's thighs and pulling them around his waist. "You can't ever deny me, Angel. Your body was made to take me." Slipping a hand down to the panting hybrid's entrance, he growled at the wetness he found there, sliding two fingers into the quivering hole and watching with hooded eyes as Dean squirmed. "So wet and eager for me, love. Feel that, Dean? Your hole is devouring my fingers, practically _begging_ for something much larger to satisfy its greed…"

"Holy fuck. _Sammy_…" Dean's mind was swiftly fogging over with lust, his legs gripping Sam's waist tight as his hands scrabbled at the soft earth above his head. Prying his eyes open with great difficulty, he gazed up at the burning hazel eyes silently surveying him. "The o-others," he gasped on a stuttered breath, jade eyes dark and glossing over with desire. "They're watching…"

Sam's eyes flickered to black, his wings erupting out to cast an inky shadow over his mewling mate. "So let them watch," he growled, rearing back onto his knees and hauling Dean's perky rump into his lap, the hybrid hissing agitatedly as his wings are dragged across the ground. "I want everybody here to know _exactly_ who it is you belong to, Dean. Want them to hear you _scream_ my name in ecstasy, to _taste_ your arousal in the air, to see you _writhing_ on the end of my cock, and know that _I_ am the only one who can make you lose control like that." Wrapping Dean's legs around his hips, he lined up his large and heavily engorged sex with his mate's leaking entrance. "Come on, Angel – let's give them a show."

With one brutal thrust, Sam rammed home, his pelvis smacking against Dean's ass as the hybrid's back arched high off the ground and he cried out in rapture for the whole damn compound to hear. Their pace was fast and punishing; a clear demonstration of Sam's ownership and Dean's devotion, and the gathered companions looked on with mixed receptions of lust, jealousy and awe.

Unbeknownst to most, mated pairs within the sanctuary were given collars that were slightly altered. Whereas the unmated companions would have been sedated long before now to stave off any unwanted advances and/or unplanned pregnancies during their stay, those in bonded unions were permitted to be intimate, the collar allowing for erratic influxes of sexual hormones and endorphins to be released without any harm or interruptions. Fighting was still not permitted under any circumstances, and the collar would tranquillise any companion who tried it, mated or not, but Chuck didn't see the point in attempting to stall any bonded mates from copulating at their own leisure – not when they would only become increasingly frustrated and likely injure themselves trying to do as their natural instincts dictated.

If Sam had been aware of this little fact, he would have thanked the bedraggled, twitchy human man, but as it was he simply manhandled Dean up into his lap, the hybrid's arms curling tight around his neck and legs splaying over his spread thighs.

"Oh, Sam," Dean moaned at the new angle, his fingers curling into the demon's luscious locks and tugging hard when Sam's powerful cock nestled up neatly against his prostate with every thrust. "Shit, don't stop! Don't ever fucking stop!"

"Never, Angel," Sam growled, his bat-like wings easily enveloping Dean's body. Just because he wanted his claim witnessed, didn't mean he wanted dozens of ogling eyes looking at his property – and certainly not when he was fucking _naked_. "So beautiful, Dean. So fucking perfect. Never have to worry, beloved – there ain't no one in the world I want more than you. Always you, Angel. _Always_."

Dean purred seductively at his alpha's declaration of love and possession, his hands fisting in Sam's hair and knees gripping his hips as he ground himself down against the alpha's every toe-curling thrust. Slitting his eyes open, he caught sight of Ruby and Meg from over Sam's shoulder, the two demonesses hanging around not fifteen feet away. Flashing them a shit-eating smirk, he swooped down and kissed Sam full and filthy on the mouth, his eyes never once leaving the stewing she-devils as Sam cupped his neck and practically shoved his tongue down Dean's throat.

When they broke apart for desperate breaths, Dean pinned Sam's shoulders to the ground and rode his alpha like a bucking bronco, his head tossed back and palms flat against the demon's rippling pectorals. Sam's hands came up to grip and guide his pumping hips, claws scratching against supple skin and lending a hint of pain to the otherwise blinding pleasure.

Dean couldn't be sure when exactly they left, but when he next opened his eyes both Ruby and Meg were gone. Grinning in triumph, he leaned down to lap sensually at the corner of Sam's mouth, his chest rumbling with a blissful little purr.

"I'm ready, Sammy," he breathed hotly into his mate's ear. "Come on, alpha… split me open and finish me off; make me scream, just like you promised."

Growling at the hybrid's sultry words, Sam cupped the back of Dean's left knee and expertly flipped their positions, driving into his mate's abused hole with every ounce of strength and stamina he possessed. Dean positively keened at the rough and frantic pace, Sam fucking into him with deadly precision as heat coiled low in his belly and he thrashed on the soft, grassy earth.

His climax hit him with the force of a sledgehammer, seemingly ripped from the core of his very soul, his back bowing and body shuddering with pleasurable tremors as he came hard and fast between their sweat-slick bodies. Sam growled in rapture as his mate reached completion, hips pistoning in deep, heavy thrusts until the tight, quivering insides of Dean's hole proved too stimulating and he too lost himself in euphoria, his sharp teeth biting down hard on his angel's neck as he was milked for all his worth.

Mewling in contentment as Sam's seed flooded his insides with a familiar and sticky warmth, Dean sagged back against the grass, his body boneless and skin glowing with the kind of profound satisfaction that only his Sammy could provide. Sam eased himself atop his smiling mate, bodies still joined together and heart swelling with pride at the sated fulfilment radiating from Dean's every pore.

"Feel better, my love?" Sam asked, smiling softly as he stroked a thumb over Dean's flushed cheek.

"Infinitely," Dean chuckled, his fingertips tickling down Sam's spine in a loving caress.

"Good," Sam beamed, tail swishing happily as he dipped down to press a doting kiss to Dean's lust-swollen lips. "I trust you won't be running off with any more strange alphas from now on?"

"No more strange alphas," Dean promised with a nod, though that rascally little grin made Sam wary. "Just Benny."

Sam curled his lip. "Dean…"

"What?" Dean asked, eyes wide and innocent. "Benny's not a threat to you, and he's no longer a stranger. And besides, we're only gonna be here 'til tomorrow. Where's the harm?"

Sam didn't look convinced, but he supposed he saw the logic in his beta's argument. "Okay, fine. But you're only to talk to him when I'm around – where I can _see_ you, Dean."

"That's cool with me," Dean grinned, awarding his dominating alpha a steamy kiss. "Now, you wanna move your fat ass? I'm absolutely _starving_. We were gonna go grab some grub before you went all psycho-alpha on my ass. Literally."

"Didn't hear you complaining," Sam grumbled as he carefully pulled his now flaccid cock free from Dean's loosened hole. Standing up, he shook himself out and glanced around the small clearing they had landed in. Noting several pairs of curious eyes staring shamelessly right back, he hauled Dean up and into a fierce kiss, one hand gripping the back of his neck whilst the other cupped a shapely ass-cheek. When he drew back, Dean whining in protest, he frowned down at the state of his mate's undress. "Put your pants back on before you go anywhere."

Dean could only laugh at the evident jealousy saturated in Sam's tone, the demon utilising his large wings to shield his modesty as he bent to scoop up his dirty jeans and quickly throw them back on.

Clapping his hands and rubbing them together, Dean gave his trademark grin. "Let's go, Sammy – before all the good stuff is gone."

Sam rolled his eyes but smiled all the same, throwing an arm around Dean's shoulders as they made their way out of the forest and toward the compound where they would be serving dinner, the mated pair grinning like the lovesick fools they were.

* * *

Elsewhere, Benny was leaning back against the sturdy trunk of an ageing oak, a small grin of his own painting his lips. "Way to go, tiger," he mused quietly to himself before spreading his wings and vanishing into the canopy.

* * *

**A/N:** Well, how d'ya like them apples? Two updates in as many days. I had a few days off work there, and inspiration was hitting me hard, so it wasn't hard to lose myself in writing for a while. God, it felt so _good_, too.

Okay, so we got a little bit of everything in this instalment, ne? Some Balthie and Luci, some Sam and Dean, and even some Mikey and Benny! I loved writing Michael and Lucifer's little altercation - the way I see it; Michael is the 'good soldier', following Daddy's teachings to the letter and trying to fill footsteps that will always be too large. Whereas Lucifer is the outcast, the illegitimate son with a dark and twisted childhood but who could better see the light for the fact. Lucifer will always care for Michael, in spite of his brother's betrayal, whereas Michael is too blinded by his own corruption to see the love that he holds for his kin. So beautiful and bittersweet...

Again, as per the request of **LeeMarieJack**, Dean got someone to console in whilst Sam was dangling from Ruby's puppet-strings, and Sam went all postal just as soon as he found out. I like Benny and Ruby, and will hopefully find some credible way to bring them back later on. I would also like to incorporate Gabriel at some point, too - 'cause, let's face it, who doesn't love that sweet-sucking trickster? (:

As usual, any suggestions; lay 'em on me.

I really hope y'all enjoy. Feel free to drop me a line, and peace out for now!

**FMV**


End file.
